


not gold like in your dreams

by ebenroot



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Light Angst, M/M, Miscommunication, Penelope AU-ish, Pining, Slow Burn, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, gotta love that good ole pining, it's fifty percent roommates fifty percent penelope plot, modern fairy tale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 07:05:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 87,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9537164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebenroot/pseuds/ebenroot
Summary: “Victor, you could have let some psychopath into your apartment.”“Oh come on, he’s not a psychopath,” Victor chides. Christophe makes a gesture with his hand that says ‘are you seriously this naïve or are you drunk at work again?’.“Victor, you don’t know that. You don’t know anything about him. Whose name am I going to give to the police or face I’m going to describe to the sketch artist when they find your body chopped up like Hannibal Lecter’s side dish?”--in which Victor and Yuuri are roommates and Yuuri has a secret





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【授權翻譯】not gold like in your dreams by ebenroot](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9944378) by [inoripooh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inoripooh/pseuds/inoripooh)



> i know everyone talks about anastasia au being absolutely perfect for yoi but this au DESERVES to exist and i shall take it upon myself to make it happen
> 
> for people who have seen the movie "Penelope", this story will not follow the plot EXACTLY. it will borrow some things but it's not a re-telling. for people that haven't seen the movie, you'll still enjoy this fic. probably. hopefully. OTL.

Victor honestly didn’t know what he was expecting when he put out the ad for a roommate to help pay rent for his apartment.

Well, that’s not entirely true. He _sort of_ knew what he was getting into.

 _Kinda_.

“Welcome,” Victor greets the tenth candidate for a possible roommate he’s seen in the last forty-eight hours, and gestures for them to come inside with a polite and open smile.

The candidate, a young man – Japanese possibly – shifts uneasily in the doorway for a few seconds, before he eventually steps inside. Victor’s mildly surprised to see that the guy already is carrying luggage with him. He _does_ like confidence in a person, but that’s pushing it. Not to mention the guy isn’t getting any points since he’s yet to look Victor straight in the eye.

“So, I’m Victor Nikiforov,” Victor decides to say, and holds out his hand. The man looks at Victor’s hand, then reaches out and warmly grasps it.

“Um,” he starts out, voice hard to hear beneath the medical mask over his mouth, “I’m Yuuri.”

“. . .Yuuri. . .” Victor’s voice tapers off at the end as he gestures for Yuuri to continue. Yuuri shakes his head ‘no’.

“Just Yuuri,” Yuuri states. Victor blinks.

“Okay. . .well ‘Just Yuuri’, let me show you around the place,” Victor says with a shrug of his shoulders.

Victor gives a quick rundown of the apartment flat. It’s spacious enough to comfortably hold a family of five, but currently just holds Victor and his poodle Makkachin. The living room has a large glass window to look out onto the city streets below. The bathroom has a whirlpool bathtub, and the two bedrooms that are furnished have large comfy beds and closets that can fit hundreds of outfits.

Yuuri is quiet throughout the entire tour, soaking it all in with pensive brown eyes. Out of all the candidates so far, Yuuri is definitely the quietest. That might not be a bad quality now that Victor thinks about it, especially since candidates one through five cheerfully boasted about how this apartment would be the _sickest_ place to throw a party/rave/weird creepy event that Victor doesn’t want any part of.

“This room is my work place. If you don’t see me in the apartment, I’m probably in here,” Victor explains, resting his hand on the doorknob. He doesn’t open the door though, just leans his weight against the surface of the wood.

Victor waits for maybe an ‘oh, what kind of work do you do?’, or a ‘what are you expecting out of me as your roommate?’, or even a ‘hey, what type of movies do you like? Let’s chat, let’s get to know the person you’re going to be living with for an indiscernible amount of time’.

But Yuuri just _stares_ at Victor, all gentle flutters of his eyelashes and pretty brown eyes behind thick-rimmed glasses, wondering if Victor is going to open the door or if this is the end of their tour. 

Victor bites the inside of his cheek. “You’re not much of a talker are you, ‘Just Yuuri’,” Victor points out. Yuuri flushes red and Victor _smiles_ at the reaction, which makes Yuuri blush even more.

“I – um – I’m not good with people. Usually. I don’t really do this,” he gestures at the space between him and Victor, “this sort of thing. Talking. Usually. Um.” He averts his eyes again, and starts to fiddle with his medical mask.

“. . .Are you sick or anything?” Victor asks and Yuuri quickly shakes his head.

“N-No! I – um – I just – this is for – ” Yuuri breathes in deeply and wraps arms around himself. “I just. . .feel more comfortable with it on.” His tone is quiet and pleading for Victor to accept his explanation, eyes cast to the floor. Yuuri hunches over slightly, reminiscent of a flower beginning to wilt.

“. . .Okay,” Victor says after a moment to think about the strangeness of the situation. Yuuri’s head rises, looking at Victor with worried eyes that he gives a gentle smile to. “Hey. If we’re going to be roommates, I’d like for you to feel like this place is your home. If it makes you feel comfortable to wear that, then you’re free to wear it,” Victor says with a laugh. 

Yuuri bristles in his spot at Victor’s words, but then his shoulders relax and he nods his head. He then tucks his chin in towards his chest to make himself appear small and unintimidating to Victor’s eyes. Maybe Victor is wrong about Yuuri having confidence.

Victor decides to skip his work area (because it’s _his_ personal spot and he doesn’t expect nor want his roommate coming in and touching his stuff) and heads back out into the living room. Victor shows him around the kitchen and stops beside Makkachin currently sitting underneath the island bar.

“This is Makkachin,” Victor introduces with a happy grin and gets to his knees, rubbing his hands all over Makkachin’s back and his stomach. He looks up to Yuuri, eyes twinkling. “You want to pet him?”

Yuuri awkwardly twiddles with his fingers. “Um, can I?” he asks and Victor gestures to Makkachin’s exposed belly. Yuuri carefully gets down to his knees, threading a timid and gentle hand through Makkachin’s curly fur. Makkachin appreciates the extra love, tongue lolled out to the side as his foot begins to kick when Yuuri scratches his side.

“He’s really cute,” Yuuri murmurs, petting behind Makkachin’s ear when Victor says ‘it’s Makkachin’s favorite place to get attention’. Makkachin cranes his head to lick at Yuuri’s exposed wrist when he does and Yuuri chuckles, mirth crinkling at the corners of his eyes.

Victor hums. “Well, you certainly have Makkachin’s Stamp of Approval,” Victor muses aloud, watching as Makkachin turns to stand on all four paws and nuzzle into Yuuri’s calf, sniffing him and understanding his scent.

Candidates six through nine failed this part, which surprised Victor because Makkachin is the friendliest dog he’s known. For Makkachin to find _something_ to dislike about a person when the poodle likes everyone he comes across says _a lot_.

They spend a few minutes of just sitting on the floor and petting Makkachin, the dog going back and forth between them like he’s judging on who gives the best cuddles. He eventually stays snuggled against Yuuri, stretching out over Yuuri’s thighs to take a little nap. Yeah, Makkachin _definitely_ likes Yuuri.

“Do you have any other places you’re looking at?” Victor asks, thinking on how dandidate eight felt the need to brag that they were a _great_ roommate and they had _dozens_ of offers from people that could cater to their lifestyle. As if that would keep Victor from slamming the door in their face.

Yuuri shakes his head. “Um, no. I don’t. . .I don’t have anywhere else to go,” Yuuri answers. His hand moves over Makkachin’s back slowly, deep in thought.

“. . .Oh. . .okay. . .” Victor says and looks over at his coffee table cluttered up with trashy tabloids and cartons of take-out from the restaurant across the street.

An uncomfortable silence fills the space between them, heavy and thick on Victor’s lungs. Victor understands that there are introverts and extroverts in the world. The thing is, he’s gotten so comfortable living with someone to talk to and joke around and their voices constantly in Victor’s ears. Even then, the rare bouts of silence didn’t seem this daunting and stale as the silence between him and Yuuri.

Hmm. . .it might not work out. Not if they don’t have any chemistry together to even hold a conversation for longer than one minute. Victor sighs.

He opens his mouth to say the usual lines, promise to call Yuuri if nothing else turns up but will never encounter him again, but Yuuri is the one that speaks first.

“I,” he stammers, “I just. . .can I please stay here? I like it here and I promise I won’t be a bother to you. A-And I’ll have the money on time. I’ll stay out of your way. I’ll stay in my room and you won’t have to look at me-”

“Woah woah _woah_ ,” Victor says, hands raised to halt Yuuri’s rambling. He tilts his head to the side, confusion swirling in his blue eyes. “Why do you think I don’t want to look at you?” Victor asks. Not that he can really tell with the medical mask on, but Yuuri _seems_ attractive. His body has the perfect proportions of lean and body fat to create a soft looking and curvy figure. Plus, Victor thinks Yuuri’s brown eyes are nice once Yuuri actually tilts his head up so Victor can see them.

Yuuri runs his fingertips over the medical mask. “Because I. . .I. . .people can’t stand to look at my face.”

“Well, then they’re assholes,” Victor says with a shrug, tilting his head to the side. “You don’t look that bad to me.”

Yuuri averts his eyes and adjusts his glasses, not responding to Victor’s compliment. Victor gives a gentle nudge with his shoulder.

“Hey. . .look, if you’re going to be my roommate, we have to be able to talk to each other, okay? I don’t want you to hide away in your room or feel that you _need_ to,” Victor says and he beams, holding out his hand. “Who knows, maybe you can be my second-best friend.”

There’s confusion in Yuuri’s eyes, and his eyebrows turn downwards.

“Second?”

“Well, _obviously_ Makkachin is my best friend,” Victor says and looks at his poodle still sprawled over Yuuri’s legs. “Although, I think I’m on my way to being replaced.”

Yuuri laughs again, and it’s sweet and melts away the tension that had formed. It’s easier to breathe, and Victor breathes out relief.

Yuuri reaches out and shakes Victor’s hand, but Victor’s fingers wrap around to keep him from pulling away too soon.

“Do you like Italian? There’s a place across the street that serves some _authentic_ Italian cuisine. We can hash out the rent payments and all the other formalities over a plate of spaghetti?” Victor suggests with a crooked grin. Yuuri’s eyes widen in surprise, and his face immediately changes to a light hue of rose pink.

His hand snatches out of Victor’s grasp and back to his side, Victor quickly raising his hands up to show that he’s not any threat.

Victor quickly sputters out “I wasn’t trying to hit on you if _that’s_ what you’re thinking” the same time that Yuuri mumbles “I don’t like people looking at me when I eat”. Both pause and take in what the other said, and Yuuri only grows pinker.

They try and respond, but stop when it looks like the other person is going to speak first. Victor rubs the back of his neck, gesturing a hand out towards Yuuri.

“You first,” he says. Yuuri looks down, busying himself with Makkachin’s fur.

“I-I didn’t take it as a flirt. . .um. . .do you have a problem with that sort of thing?” Yuuri quietly asks and Victor shakes his head ‘no’.

“I’m pan, so trust me. I have _no problem_ at all,” Victor says with a smile. Yuuri’s posture relaxes by only a bit, still timid and not allowing Victor to see all of him just yet. “Um, well, what about you. Anything preferences I should know about? Pronouns, names penchants other than the mysterious ‘no last name’ thing?”

“He and him. . .and I’m. . .I’m still figuring out just what I’m attracted to. I’ve flirted with men and women, been courted by both. . .but it hasn’t gotten any farther than that.” How Yuuri’s voice fades out at the end sounds like he’s thinking about something distant. Like this subject is something that he’ll talk about someday, but now isn’t the time.

Victor nods his head, and decides not to press on the matter.

“Um, what were you going to say?” Yuuri asks, trying to divert the conversation.

“Oh! We don’t have to go eat. We can walk around the neighborhood, get you familiar with places and talk. Will that be fine with you?” Victor asks. Makkachin ears perk up at the mention walking, and suddenly Victor is back to being Makkachin’s best friend.

Yuuri laughs as Makkachin excitedly licks Victor’s face and braces all his weight onto Victor’s stomach, and Victor tries to get his dog to calm down so he can have a somewhat proper conversation with Yuuri.

Once Makkachin has finally calmed down from his over-excitement and Victor’s face smells of dog spit, Yuuri breathes out a sigh and he gives a nod of his head.

“Yeah, that sounds nice.”

 

* * *

 

“How’s the new roommate doing? Is he still warming my old bed or does he have a spot in yours now?” 

Victor gives a sarcastic laugh and takes the book handed to him from Christophe. “For your information, the only one I’m sharing my bed with is Makkachin.”

“Hm. That's new,” Christophe says with a drawl, quirking his eyebrow. “So you’re done with the whole ‘one night stand’ thing?”

“I don’t want to make him feel uncomfortable with him waking up and there’s random people in the apartment,” Victor says. Christophe narrows his eyes.

“So it was alright for _me_ to have to deal with getting rid of the one night stands?” 

“It’s your specialty. I thought we agreed on this in college,” Victor says with a chuckle. He sifts through the books and arranges them in proper order on the shelf, before he accepts the next stack from Christophe. The Swiss man clicks his tongue, bracing his hands against the book cart.

“What kind of guy is your roommate anyways? It’s been a week and so far, you can only tell me his first name and his age,” Christophe says. Victor sighs.

“Yeah. He doesn’t really talk much. He spends more time in his room than anything. Sometimes when I come home, I see him and ask him about his day, but he doesn’t have much to talk about and then it just becomes awkward. He’s probably bored just sitting in the apartment the entire time.”

“He doesn’t work? Okay, how cute is he? Because you’re being a better roommate to him than me and I’ve known you longer,” Christophe complains and Victor shoots him a look.

“ _You’re_ the one that wanted to move into your boyfriend’s place,” Victor states and moves down the bookshelf, straightening out the rows. “And I don’t know. I _think_ he’s cute. I’ve never seen his entire face; he’s usually wearing some medical mask or a scarf or something.”

“You’re telling you’ve been living with this guy for a week and you don’t know his name, you don’t know his history and you don’t even know his _face?_ ”

Victor winces. “Well, when you put it like _that_ -”

“Victor, you could have let some psychopath into your apartment.”

“Oh _come on_ , he’s _not_ a psychopath,” Victor chides. Christophe makes a gesture with his hand that says ‘are you _seriously_ this naïve or are you drunk at work again?’.

“Victor, you don’t know that. You don’t know anything about him. Whose name am I going to give to the police or face I’m going to describe to the sketch artist when they find your body chopped up like Hannibal Lecter’s side dish?” Christophe states and Victor rolls his eyes.

“You’re exaggerating.”

“No, I’m being reasonably paranoid. You should have done a background check on this guy at _least_ ,” Christophe presses and Victor sighs.

He turns and leans against the bookshelf, giving Christophe a smile that is supposed to quell Christophe’s concerns but at the same time just make him _more_ suspicious.

“Look, he’s not going to chop me up and serve me with chianti. He’s just shy and quiet. He’ll open up to me when he’s ready and when he does, I’ll tell you the entire situation,” Victor says and rests a hand on Christophe’s shoulder. He gives it a little squeeze and chuckles. “Okay?”

Christophe smiles, moving Victor’s hand off him and cocking his head to the side.

“Make sure you write that I get the ’59 Stratocaster in your will.”

 

* * *

 

“You guys charge way too much for pizza,” Victor tells the pizza delivery boy at the door when he answers it, like it’s somehow his fault. He pays him, gives him a good tip, and sends him on his way. Victor balances the box on his forearm, and holds it out of reach as Makkachin tries to jump up and knock it out of Victor’s grasp onto the floor. 

“Yuuri! Pizza’s here!” Victor calls out down the hall. He sets it on the counter and opens the box up, taking a clean plate from the cupboard to grab him a slice.

The door creaks from down the hall, and soon Yuuri enters the area with a new medical mask on his face and dressed in lazy sweats. He scratches his stomach, furrowing his eyebrows as he comes around the island counter to look at the pizza.

“. . .What is this?” Yuuri asks after staring at the food for a good second.

“It’s pizza,” Victor says, handing Yuuri a plate. “You like Hawaiian?”

“. . .I’ve never had it. Is it authentic?” Yuuri asks, turning the plate in between his hands.

“. . .Huh?”

“Like from Hawaii. How did you get it so quickly?” Yuuri asks, completely genuine.

Victor blinks, then laughs and shakes his head. “Uh, no. This isn’t. . .from Hawaii. Uh-” he cuts Yuuri a smaller slice and plates it. “Just give it a try.”

Yuuri adjusts his glasses and takes the slice into his hands, inspecting the large pineapple ring slices embedded in melted cheese. He awkwardly tries to hold it, bringing it to his still covered mouth. Yuuri pulls it back, then looks over at Victor who is watching intently.

“. . .Oh, sorry,” Victor apologizes and turns around so he’s not facing Yuuri. He drums his fingertips over the surface of the marble counter, counts aloud to thirty in his head, and then waits for Yuuri to make a sound or a noise that gives the all clear.

“. . .This is good!” Yuuri exclaims a few minutes later. Victor breathes out a little chuckle.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! I’ve never had ham before; my parents wouldn’t allow any pork in the house.”

Victor quirks an eyebrow, busying himself with looking at the clock. “For dietary reasons or. . .”

Yuuri is quiet for a moment. “It’s. . .”

“Complicated?” Victor asks.

“Yeah.”

“Lots of things are complicated about you, ‘Just Yuuri’,” Victor murmurs with a smile.

“. . .I’m sorry,” Yuuri quietly whispers with that kicked puppy tone, like he’s regretting even opening his mouth. Victor shakes his head.

“No that’s. . .that’s what I like about you,” Victor reassures. He glances over his shoulder, only to find that Yuuri has turned around to face away from Victor anyways to eat his slice of pizza. His shoulders are hunched up in that way he always does when he’s nervous or embarrassed, something that Victor finds quite endearing in a certain way.

Victor braces himself against the counter. “I like that you have this ‘mysterious’ vibe to you. It’s interesting. Like you're a puzzle just waiting to be solved.” 

“I’m not mysterious. . .or interesting,” Yuuri says with a sigh, and adjusts his medical mask. He sets the plate down that only has crumbs on it, and turns to face Victor once more with his eyes averted to the ground. “I mean. . .what’s so interesting about me?”

“Aside from the whole-” Victor gestures to his nose and mouth area, and Yuuri’s cheeks flush pink. Victor hums, rubbing his chin. “Well. . .I like your eyes for starters.”

Yuuri scoffs. “They’re brown. What’s so interesting about that?”

“No no. It’s not that they’re brown. They’re just. . .I don’t know how to explain it,” Victor says and he steps closer to Yuuri. He raises his hand, showing his bare palm, and he slowly moves to hold Yuuri’s cheek. Yuuri flinches at first, but he doesn’t pull away. His eyes are wide with surprise, sparkling in anticipation and nerves at the same time.

“Yeah, like this. Whenever you look at me sometimes, it’s like you’re searching me. Like you’re a dowsing rod and you’re trying to figure out whether this is the right thing for you to do, if you should talk to me or if you should run and hide. And whenever you make the choice that you’re happiest with, they always sparkle and you can see so much more than brown in your eyes.”

Victor gently rubs his thumb over Yuuri’s soft cheek judt beneath the rim of his glasses, contemplating just how many different shades of brown and flecks of amber he’s seeing rise behind Yuuri’s glasses.

“. . .I. . .” Victor feels Yuuri grow warm beneath his touch, and Yuuri gently moves Victor’s hand away. “Um. . .I’ll just. . .” Yuuri reaches and takes an extra three slices of Hawaiian pizza and piles them onto his plate. With his head turned downwards, Yuuri exits the kitchen and heads down the hall to his bedroom. 

“. . .Goodnight, ‘Just Yuuri’!” Victor calls out.

And very faintly, Victor hears a ‘g-goodnight, Victor’ stutter out down the hall, just before he hears a door open and shut.

 

* * *

 

Victor’s daily routine goes like this: 

He wakes up at around five in the morning to shower and shave and get ready for his morning shift. On his days off, he usually sleeps in till around ten or whenever Makkachin starts to scratch at the door eager to go on a walk.

Breakfast is always whatever is convenient for time. Eggo waffles, Pop Tarts, a few bites of last night’s dinner still chilled from the refrigerator, etc. He almost never sees Yuuri in the morning, and he doesn’t know if Yuuri is just a heavy sleeper or if he’s just hiding in his room and waiting for Victor to leave.

Victor always makes it a point to announce that he’s leaving by calling out ‘goodbye’ to Yuuri from the front door. Sometimes there’s a muffled ‘goodbye’ back, sometimes there’s not. Victor doesn’t dwell too much on it.

He drives down to the bookstore to stack books, assist with pre-orders, decorate for any special events and run the registers for around eight hours. It always smells like pine and cedar in the bookstore, coffee as well. Just enough sensations to make Victor relaxed and let his mind wander until the clock runs out.

When he comes back home, sometimes Yuuri is in the living room watching TV and sometimes he isn’t. Victor doesn’t know what Yuuri does, if he has a job on the side or errands to run. He knows that he manages to take Makkachin out for a walk, since Makkachin’s leash is always neatly tied and hangs on the door handle instead of the hook Victor usually places it.

After getting into more comfortable clothes, Victor spends about three hours or so in his workspace with sheet music sprawled over the desk and company emails requesting the specific type of tune they want their jingle to be. It always needs to be something catchy and creative, and Victor always struggles to make sure that the music he creates for a brand-new line of soda releasing in the summer doesn’t sound the same as the jingle he writes for peppermint gum.

If there’s enough food in the refrigerator or pantry – which usually there isn’t – Victor cooks a mediocre meal that usually is enough to satisfy him. He doesn’t if it's good enough for Yuuri, since the man always makes his plate and quietly retreats to his bedroom where Victor can’t watch him eat and gauge his reaction.

They maybe exchange a total of ten words each day, ‘goodbye’ and ‘goodnight’ the most frequent. Victor feels like it shouldn’t bother him that much if Yuuri doesn’t feel like talking to him, but it _does_.

Christophe’s voice echoes at the back of his mind when he tries to go to sleep; thoughts of what type of person is currently sleeping just a few feet away from him keep him awake past the time Victor should be trying to get some rest.

He doesn’t know a thing about Yuuri and Yuuri doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest. Nor does Yuuri care to wonder about Victor or inquire just what type of person Victor is. Victor doesn’t even know the useless facts about Yuuri that could be exchanged over a handshake or a beer, like what is Yuuri’s favorite band or his favorite movie or even his favorite _color_. Victor only guesses that it’s blue by the frame of Yuuri’s glasses and his scarves that have shades of blue in them.

Victor thinks that he just needs to wait. Eventually, Yuuri will talk to him. He’ll want to stay in the kitchen a little bit longer after fixing his plate, maybe even sit down on the couch with Victor and put his feet up to watch a mind-numbing reality show or something in Victor’s Netflix queue.

Victor hasn’t planned on what to do if Yuuri never comes around to him. Instead, he daunts on the silence and hopes for the best possible scenario.

 

* * *

 

Work doesn’t normally exhaust Victor, but he did have to deal with overzealous readers eager to get their hands on the latest addition to the Romantic Skaters series. He hears that it’s pretty good, but Victor has never been one for romance novels. The love always seems too cut and trite, filled with romantic clichés played one too many times for it to hold any interest to Victor. 

His shoulders are a little sore and there’s a dull ache in his thighs as he trudges up the stairs to his apartment. Victor hasn’t been to the grocery store to restock the fridge this week; he’s not even sure if there’s enough food to cook a reasonable dinner for him and Yuuri.

Looks like dinner will be courtesy of the Italian restaurant from across the street. He’s sure that somewhere underneath all the junk mail they've received, there’s a coupon for half off dinner pasta and breadsticks.

He fumbles with his keys and opens the door to step inside. It’s quiet in the apartment, as usual when Victor comes back home from work. There’s evidence that Yuuri was moving around, from how there’s a few extra dishes in the sink that needs to be washed, and the television remote rests on the arm of the couch next to an open TV guide. But Yuuri is nowhere to be seen. Neither is Makkachin for some odd reason.

Victor runs a hand through his hair and toes off his shoes, deciding that he’ll take a quick soak in the tub to sooth his muscles before he orders dinner. His walk has a lazy gait to it, eyes struggling to keep open as he shuffles down the hallway to the bathroom.

Victor’s hand rests on the door handle to step inside, but pauses when he sees that the door to his work room is cracked.

Victor frowns, quietly approaching the room and noticing that the light is on from the inside. His fingers wrap around the door handle slowly, and he leans his weight onto the door to peer inside.

His books that were once arranged neatly on the mahogany bookshelf from genres ranging from science fiction to thriller to non-fiction, are now sprawled out onto the floor. There’s two tall stacks of books that look ready to topple over at just the smallest tremor next to some books that are open but are not being read.

Makkachin is curled up in his comfortable chair next to his reading lamp, fast asleep and drooling all over the throw pillow. Yuuri sits on the floor with his back turned to Victor, another stack of Victor’s books by his knee. On top of the stack is a blue and gold bundle of fabric Victor recognizes as one of Yuuri’s many scarves.

There’s something in the back of Victor’s mind that he believes is natural curiosity. It’s what pilots humans to always wonder and ask the ‘why’ and to seek out the things that they don’t understand.

It’s what whispers in a dulcet tone for Victor to approach Yuuri from behind and sneak a peek at what the man has always tried to hide from him.

It’s an uncomfortable nagging itch that makes Victor’s hands grow sweaty and his breath shorten from anticipation.

But he doesn’t move one inch into the room.

“What are you doing?” Victor calls out. Makkachin’s head perks up from the sound of Victor’s voice, while Yuuri jumps like a frightened cat in the dumpster and knocks over the stack of books next to him.

One of Yuuri’s hands immediately go to his face that Victor still can’t see from behind, and he blindly paws for his scarf that lies just out of his reach. Victor remains rooted in his spot, and his hands slip into his pockets as he waits.

“I-” Yuuri manages to grab his scarf and wraps it around his face nice and tight, before he turns around to meet Victor’s face. His eyes are big and wide with worry, the bright glow of the lamp making them sparkle more with nerves behind his glasses.

“I’m not mad,” Victor says, voice vaguely registered as a whisper. Well, that’s a lie. He’s mad. Some of these books are rare editions and here they are, tossed on the floor like some trashy porno mag. But he stills the quiver in his lip and the downwards turn of his eyebrows, calmly getting to his knees to collect the books into his hands.

“I-I’m so sorry. I. . .I was. . .I was curious as what was in here and-”

“I told you the first day. It’s my work area,” Victor answers. Some of the pages of the books are dog-eared. Victor’s thumb is heavy as he smooths out the crease.

It’s a stale and uncomfortable silence that settles over Victor’s shoulders like a cape, as Victor begins to reorganize and stack his books back onto the bookshelf in their correct order. Three books in, and he notices that Yuuri has also moved his music theory and science fiction novels out of their proper spots. He sighs deep through his nose and stops to fix the error.

“O-Oh. . .um. . .what work do you do?” Yuuri’s voice pipes up, timid and like he’s not sure if he’s about to step on a bomb that ticks beneath the surface of Victor’s tongue.

“So _now_ you want to know about me?” Victor mutters under his breath, not realizing he said it louder than he intended to.

When he turns to crouch down and gather up more books, Yuuri abruptly rises to his feet at the same time. Victor looks up, confused, but Yuuri is already walking past him, not meeting Victor’s eyes even when he calls his name.

Yuuri carefully steps over the books, an elegant dance of panic and anxiety that breaks out into a run when he reaches the door and retreats to his bedroom. The sound the door makes when it is slammed shut sounds a lot louder in Victor’s ears, rattling his bones and causing a hitch of air in his chest.

Victor stays seated on the ground for a moment, then turns to Makkachin who is giving him a judging look with his shiny black eyes.

“. . .You should have told him he’s not allowed in here without my permission,” Victor scolds, like pushing the blame on his poodle will make the sudden feeling of being an unintentional asshole disappear as quick as it came.

Makkachin turns up his nose and jumps down from the chair, trotting out of the room with a disappointed wag of his tail.

Victor cleans up the books and reorganizes them on his shelf alone.

He eats part of tonight’s dinner - breadsticks and chicken parmesan with a side of minestrone soup – alone.

He watches some television, and thinks about how to apologize, and waits for Yuuri to be the one to extend an olive branch first, alone.

Eventually, Victor forgets about the bath and just sheds his clothes to crawl into his bed.

One hour into his dreamless sleep, he hears the quiet padding of bare feet against the hardwood floor pass by his cracked door. Shortly after, there’s a clinking of plates in the kitchen and the dull hum of the microwave.

The quiet footsteps pass by Victor’s bedroom again, with the faint smell of reheated chicken parmesan filtering into Victor’s nose from under the sheets. Last, there’s a gentle shut of a bedroom door, and all is quiet in the apartment once more.

Victor buries his face into the pillow and sighs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was supposed to be two chapters with one chapter roommates and the second part penelope. but i should have known better.


	2. Chapter 2

“I’m telling you, I know a guy who knows a guy who knows a guy who can dig up dirt on people. I can set something up between you two, but when you meet up with him, you have to always have your hands visible and don’t look him directly in the eye. 

Victor blinks. “Uh, no thanks Sara. Just the take-out is fine,” he says with a weak smile. The Italian girl blinks herself, shrugs, then readies Victor and Yuuri’s take-out order.

She reads off the order – one sandwich with roasted chicken breast, mozzarella, sun dried tomatoes and arugula on a focaccia for Yuuri and one sandwich with sliced salami, mozzarella, tomatoes and basil on ciabatta for Victor – before she slips the receipt into the brown paper bag and takes Victor’s offered card.

“How long has he been holed up in there?” Sara asks before she swipes Victor’s card. Victor sighs and gives a shrug, letting his eyes move up to the chalk menu above Sara’s head.

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him in three days. He moves around whenever I’m not looking or I’m not there. I bet as soon as he hears me unlocking the door, he’ll run back into his bedroom and stay there until I go to sleep,” Victor says, the words leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

He’s getting frustrated with both himself and with Yuuri. He’s frustrated with Yuuri because dammit, he didn’t have any right going in Victor’s personal room and messing with his stuff. Victor _never_ entered Yuuri’s room since they started living together. He treated it like it was someplace off-limits, someplace that he would never overstep the boundary to keep Yuuri feeling comfortable. He _wants_ Yuuri to be comfortable with him and to be able to just _talk_.

And the other half, Victor being frustrated with himself, is because maybe he was a little too sharp-tongued. He knows he’s terrible with people and their emotions, bad at reading the mood and going along with the flow. He doesn’t know what to do to fix this. He doesn’t know what kind of approach to take or what sincere gesture will prove to Yuuri that Victor wants to just bury the hatchet and continue with their still awkward co-habitation.

Sara hands him back his card. “Maybe you should try to talk with him. Say you’re sorry for snapping at him like that and he’ll start to come back around,” Sara suggests. It’s all she can really do; Victor can see it in her smile that twitches at the corner of her lips that she doesn’t know herself if what she’s saying will do much to help.

Victor takes the brown paper bag and nods his head. “Thanks. . .I’ll try.”

She nods her head as well, and gives him a friendly thumbs up that he reciprocates.

Victor takes his time heading back to the apartment. He takes the steps slowly and goes over what he wants to say in his head and what options does he have. The loudest option so far is to ask if Yuuri would feel comfortable finding another roommate that would be more compatible to his habits than Victor.

He’ll have to start looking for a roommate that pays their share of the rent on time like Yuuri always manages to do, not to mention Makkachin will be upset at losing a friend to cuddle with, but Victor honestly doesn’t know what else to say. He’s stuck between a rock and a hard place and Yuuri’s attitude isn’t making things easier on him.

He can’t read him and he doesn’t know what’s going on in his head. Victor wants to, he _really wants to_. He _wants_ to understand, he _wants_ to make things work, but if Yuuri doesn’t feel the same way, then Victor can’t force his way inside.

When he reaches the front door, he places his ear against it. Faintly, he hears the television from inside. Victor sticks the keys and takes off the lock, ear still pressed to the door. The television sounds from inside immediately shut off and footsteps take off in a hurry.

He gets the front door open just as Yuuri’s bedroom door slams shut. Makkachin sits on the couch, head turned down towards the hall where Yuuri fled seconds before.

The poodle gets up to greet Victor and try to nuzzle at the bag of food in Victor’s clutches. Victor smiles at Makkachin and takes off his shoes, closing the door shut and locking it before he walks down the hall to Yuuri’s bedroom. Makkachin follows close behind at Victor’s heels, tail wagging with intrigue.

Victor gives a gentle knock to Yuuri’s door. “Yuuri?” he calls out, placing his ear to the door. It’s quiet, not really much Victor can pick up from the inside. He rests his hand on the doorknob and twists it, pushing open the door.

Yuuri jumps on his bed, bringing his bedsheets over his face while his medical mask rests out of his reach. “W-What are you doing?!” Yuuri shouts. It’s the first time Yuuri has ever raised his voice at Victor, and for a split second Victor is surprised.

“I. . .” he lifts the bag of sandwiches up, “I got us dinner.”

Yuuri keeps his bedsheets to his face, eyebrows pulling down with worry. “Okay then. I’ll be out in a minute,” Yuuri says. But Victor remains in his spot in the doorframe, Makkachin brushing past his legs to climb onto Yuuri’s bed.

“Can we. . .can we eat together?” Victor asks.

“I don’t like-”

“I know you don’t want me to see you eat. But can we talk? I. . .I _really_ want to talk to you about this whole thing,” Victor says with a huff. He sees in Yuuri’s eyes hesitance and unsureness, a glow to Yuuri’s eyes that speaks curiosity and desires understanding, but still remains unknown to Victor.

Victor gets to his knees and sits on the floor, his back pressed against the side of Yuuri’s bedframe. “I can eat like this. I can’t see you if I face this way,” Victor tells the wall. He takes his sandwich out first and places the paper bag with Yuuri’s sandwich on the bag. “Is that okay?” Victor asks, slowly unwrapping the paper around his food.

There’s no verbal response, but Victor hears paper crinkling as Yuuri takes his sandwich out of the bag and starts to unwrap it. There’s a rustle of paper and squeak of the bed as Yuuri and Makkachin get comfortable while Victor eats his food in silence.

He takes in the blank walls of Yuuri’s bedroom, remembering how Christophe used to have art deco paintings and Polaroids of him and his boyfriend at the beach sprawled all over and covering every inch.

This room doesn’t feel like a room. It’s just a space with four walls, no character or warmth or love that goes into making a place feel like home. The thought of Yuuri just sitting in here, all alone with nothing to look at, makes a sharp pain stab in Victor’s gut as he swallows.

“. . .How’s your sandwich?” Victor speaks up.

“. . .It’s good,” Yuuri mumbles in between chews.

“Hm,” Victor hums. “. . .I’m not mad at you, Yuuri. You know that, right?”

“. . .You don’t have to deny it just to try and make me feel better,” Yuuri mutters.

“I’m not denying it. Look, I’m sorry. I just. . .I don’t know what to make of you. You never talk to me and I find you going through my stuff and, I don’t know, I just. . .okay, I _was_ mad. But I’m not now. It’s over and done with. I just want us to move on and. . .and become friends again?” Victor suggests.

Victor listens to Yuuri chew his meal and swallow.

“. . .Okay. . .”

Victor breathes out relief.

There’s a few more minutes of pregnant pause between them, not as stiff and heavy as it was in Victor’s work room, but still just as awkward.

“. . .I write music,” Victor speaks.

“Huh?” Yuuri asks. Victor chuckles, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You asked me what was my other job. I write music. Not like music you’d hear on the radio or anything like that. Well, you _might_ hear it on the radio. I write jingles. Stuff that’ll make a product get stuck in your head, that sort of thing. It’s just something on the side,” Victor explains.

“Oh,” Yuuri says, pausing for a second to think. “So those instruments in there. You can play them?”

“The Stratocaster on the wall is just for show. But the Gibson and the keyboard in the corner, yeah. Um. . .what about you? Do you play instruments?” Victor quietly inquires.

“. . .I can play the shamisen. A little bit of cello and violin. Some harp. I dabbled in xylophone, but I found it wasn’t really for me. I played some flute when I was younger, but I forgot most of it. Then there’s the clarinet-”

“ _Wow_ ,” Victor breathes, feeling his head inch to look at Yuuri in amazement, but focuses to keep himself facing the blank wall in front of him. “You’re a real virtuoso!”

Yuuri laughs. “I had to keep myself busy. My mother firmly believes a gentleman is versed in all forms of music,” Yuuri explains. Victor’s lips quirk into a grin.

“So that’s what you are? A gentleman?”

“. . .It’s what she wanted me to be.” There’s the tone. The ‘I don’t want to talk about this anymore’ tone that’s usually followed by the ‘can you please leave?’ aura that Yuuri’s body radiates with uncomfortable ease. Victor quickly tries to steer the topic away.

“You really should decorate in here,” Victor blurts out, looking upwards at the ceiling since if he turns his head, it might freak Yuuri out. He wonders if Yuuri has his back turned away, or if he’s watching Victor to make sure he doesn’t turn around. Subconsciously, Victor places a hand to the back of his head where he knows his hair is thinning.

“Decorate it with what?” Yuuri asks.

“I don’t know. Some posters or maybe some artwork. Maybe buy yourself some furniture. Like a bookshelf that you could stock with your own books to read while you’re in here,” Victor suggests. “I work at a bookstore and get a discount. If you want, I can let you borrow it so you can get some books cheaper than their original price.”

“Oh, thank you,” Yuuri says, voice soft and gentle with earnest. A brief pause, then, “I really like the books in your collection”.

“I saw,” Victor hums. “You like those old classics?”

“Of course I do. Plus, I’ve never seen someone own another first edition of _La Parfum de Fleurs_.”

Victor chuckles. “Is that a personal favorite of yours?”

Yuuri _sighs_ and _oh_ , it tickles at Victor’s ears and makes his chest feel warm. “Yes. I love it. The main character transforms so much throughout the book and the romance is beautiful. It’s not too heavy-handed, but it’s not so subtle that it leads you begging for more development. It’s just. . .perfect. Just reading it makes me want to go to Paris and see all the sights they did,” Yuuri gushes.

“Paris, huh? I can speak a little bit of French,” Victor brings up.

“So can I. Japanese, Spanish, German and Mandarin as well,” Yuuri lists without missing a beat. Victor whistles low. He supposes a gentleman must also be well versed in language. Victor wonders how much free time did Yuuri have to devote so much time into learning all of this. Didn’t he have friends to go out with? Or parties to attend?

“No Russian?” Victor asks instead, not wanting to bring up a possibly sore subject. Yuuri laughs.

“I tried, but I didn’t really like it, so I dropped it,” Yuuri says, and laughs more when Victor gives a little offended gasp.

“You probably didn’t have a good teacher,” Victor says, running a hand through his hair. “I can teach you a few words, if you can teach me some Japanese? Maybe I could get some more clientele if I expanded my speaking ability,” Victor says with a smile.

“U-Um, okay. I-I don’t know if I’ll be a good teacher or anything, but I can teach you some phrases that will help,” Yuuri offers. His voice is so quiet that Victor strains his ears to hear, but he sounds more relaxed than Victor has ever heard him speak before.

Victor finishes off his sandwich and collects the crumbs into the palm of his hand so he doesn’t make a mess. Yuuri isn’t speaking, but Victor isn’t sure if he’s just sitting in silence or if he’s still eating; faintly, Victor hears Makkachin lightly snoring.

“. . .Can we eat together like this again?” Victor asks when he feels the urge to turn his head and just look at Yuuri.

“. . .Yeah,” Yuuri quietly mumbles, and there’s a creak from the bed. Makkachin is up from the movement, Victor seeing Yuuri round the side of his bed and get down to Victor’s eye level. The medical mask is snugly covering Yuuri’s face as usual. His eyes are softer, familiar. “We can eat together again,” Yuuri says, brushing his fingertips against his mask. “I. . .I’m sorry that I can’t explain why-”

“It’s okay,” Victor says abruptly and a weak grin cracks across his face. “Just. . .I want to make you feel comfortable with me. I know that you’re not ready to talk about your past or your face right now. . .but can you promise me that sometime in the future, when you think we’re close enough friends, you’ll tell me?”

Yuuri searches Victor again, looking for something that Victor doesn’t quite yet know. Trust? Empathy? Yuuri’s eyes sparkle such a pretty hue of browns and reds and golds as he stares at Victor. Victor himself feels his mouth growing dry and the smile on his face tenses from such an intense gaze.

Yuuri soon leans back onto his knees and hums. “Okay. . .not now but sometime in the future. And if I’m too repulsive for you, then I’ll pack my things and leave right away.”

Victor opens his mouth, then closes it. He doesn’t understand just _what_ Yuuri thinks about himself would be so repulsive that Victor would want him out of the apartment. As far as Victor can tell, Yuuri is normal. Beautiful eyes and a nice-sounding voice. He probably bets Yuuri’s smile is very nice, but doesn’t ask about it.

He offers his hand forward. “Okay,” Victor says and Yuuri wraps his hand around Victor’s palm to shake. “Although, Makkachin will be pretty upset if you leave. You spoil him rotten with your cuddles.”

Yuuri laughs, looking up at the poodle sitting on the bed and watching them closely. Yuuri releases Victor’s hand to give a pat to his thighs, and Makkachin leaps from the bed and into Yuuri’s arms.

“I never had a pet before, so I can’t help it,” Yuuri says, nuzzling his face into Makkachin’s fur while being mindful of his glasses.

Victor laughs. “He makes a good first pet, don’t you Makkachin?”

Makkachin gives a happy bark and Yuuri laughs.

Victor feels the little bit of doubt and concern about Yuuri melt away with each of Yuuri’s giggles and coos to Makkachin. It is replaced with the image of how the corners of Yuuri’s eyes crinkle when he laughs, and the rosiness of Yuuri’s cheeks.

 

* * *

 

“How are things in roommate purgatory?” Christophe asks. 

“Roommate purgatory?” Victor questions.

Christophe nods his head and swishes around the ice cube in his whiskey.

“Yeah. Because he’s not the perfect, friendly, all-loving roommate from heaven, but he’s not the asshole, obnoxious, slob from roommate hell either,” Christophe explains. Behind the bar, Christophe’s boyfriend gives a chuckle as he wipes a glass clean.

Victor smirks behind the rim of his glass. “Where did you fit on that roommate spectrum?”

“Obviously, I transcended roommate heaven. I was too good of a roommate to you. But we’re not talking about me. We’re talking about your roommate that you still can’t say whether or not he’s a serial killer,” Christophe says simply.

“He’s _not_.”

“But you don’t know that.”

“Chris, he’s not. He’s quiet but he’s not a killer.”

“It’s always the quiet ones,” Christophe’s boyfriend pipes up, just before he starts to mix a gin and tonic for the woman two barstools down from Christophe. Christophe gives his boyfriend a thankful look, before he takes a sip of his drink and looks over at Victor with a raised eyebrow.

Victor sighs and slouches a bit against the wood of the bar’s surface. “It’s going better. A lot better actually. We have dinner together and talk about our day, hobbies, stuff like that,” Victor says with a smile. Christophe’s eyes sparkle with interest.

“You mean you’ve finally seen his face?”

“Ah, no. Either he builds a wall of books on the dining table so I can’t see over it, or he eats in his room and I eat outside of his door and we talk.” When Victor says it out loud, he realizes that the situation is still very odd. The look on Christophe’s face clearly agrees.

Victor raises his hand to stop Christophe’s words of protest before they can come pass his lips. “Point is, we’re going to talk about it soon. He promised me in the future that he’ll tell me. . .I don’t know, I think everything is tied to his face,” Victor murmurs.

“His face?”

“Yeah. Like when we first met, he mentioned something about people not wanting to look at his face. Then, when he agreed to tell me about himself when he’s comfortable, he said if I found him too repulsive, he’ll pack up and leave,” Victor says. Christophe rubs his chin, humming to himself.

“Do you have a picture of him?” Christophe asks. Victor blinks, then shifts in his spot on the stool to pull his phone free from his back pocket. He scrolls through Instagram for a few moments as Christophe orders them two more drinks, and finds a good picture of Yuuri sitting under a tree with Makkachin sprawled over his legs.

They had gone on Victor’s request, since most of the time Victor doesn’t know if Yuuri just sits around the house and does nothing other than walking Makkachin around the block. Yuuri was fine with the picture, so long as his face was still covered with his scarf.

The sunlight that managed to stream through the branches of the tree above shower Yuuri with the perfect light. Victor takes a few moments to just stare at the photo, before he passes his phone over to Christophe.

Christophe looks at the picture for a beat, then tilts his head. “I didn’t expect him to look like this,” Christophe says. Victor raises his eyebrow.

“What do you mean?”

“I expected him to look. . .shiftier. Obviously hiding something, which he still is. But he looks. . .normal. A little bit plain; those clothes are pretty dull. He looks like he’s cute. . .” Christophe hums, turning the picture towards his boyfriend on the other side of the bar. “Honey, what do you think?”

Christophe’s boyfriend leans in close to peer at the photo. “He looks like he’s nice,” he offers. Victor reaches to take his phone back, giving a nod of his head.

“Nothing like a serial killer, right?” Victor says, giving Christophe a look. His friend shrugs.

“I have to meet him before I cast my final judgement. But I admit that once you find out what’s underneath that scarf of his, the situation won’t be as weird,” Christophe murmurs and rubs his chin. “It can’t be a bad nose job. Maybe he has some disgusting growth? But how ugly does he have to be for him to think you’ll kick him out?”

“I don’t know,” Victor sighs and takes a slow gulp of his drink. “As far as I can see, he’s just fine.”

 

* * *

 

Month two of living with ‘Just Yuuri’ passes, and Victor learns something about the younger man. 

That Yuuri has not done much of _anything_.

He’s never had beer from the tap, he’s never gone ice skating or to a sporting event, or dancing at the clubs where the music thuds so loud that it bursts an eardrum. He’s never been to the movies or the mall with friends, or camped under the stars, or rode carnival rides at a fair so many times that he pukes.

It puzzles Victor because despite being an adult, it seems that Yuuri hasn’t even experienced the simplest of pleasures that children enjoy.

Wherever Yuuri came from, it must have been from a _very_ sheltered place.

And for some reason, Victor feels a certain responsibility to ensure that Yuuri’s first taste of life’s many experiences are as enjoyable as Victor sees them.

“Okay, so all you have to do is take this ball and knock over all the pins without throwing it into those gutter lanes on the sides. Easy,” Victor explains, gesturing to the gold bowling ball in his own hands. Yuuri sits at the small table and nods his head in understanding, their lane the farthest from the entrance of the small bowling alley Victor decided to take Yuuri to.

It’s relatively empty, it usually is on Wednesday afternoons. But Victor doesn’t have work and he doesn’t want to sit around in his apartment watching Makkachin chew on a bone while Yuuri hides away in his room.

The loud sound of bowling pins knocking over that occurs every couple of minutes, as well as the smell of fast food from the snack bar reminds Victor of his time hanging out with Christophe. This time, he’s with Yuuri, and for some reason there’s a tickle in the base of Victor’s spine that didn’t exist the many times he came with his old roommate.

“Okay, now watch me,” Victor instructs and turns his attention to the bowling pins. He raises the bowling ball upwards, calculating the angle and speed he needs to throw it to perfectly execute a strike to show his darling pupil how it’s done. And then, with great skill and pride, bowls a gutter ball.

“I thought you were supposed to avoid the gutters,” Yuuri’s voice pipes up behind him, tone teasing and playful. Victor gives a laugh and shakes his hands loose, going to collect his ball and prepare for his second turn.

“Just a warm-up throw. I need to go easy on you, otherwise it wouldn’t be fair,” Victor says. Yuuri adjusts his scarf, quirking an eyebrow in interest. Victor wonders if he’s smiling beneath the garment at Victor, or if his lips are turned in a neutral expression, or an annoyed grimace. Yuuri’s eyes are expressive enough without needing to see the rest of his face, but sometimes Victor gets lost in the sparkle of them to really focus on anything else.

Victor knocks over seven pins with his second shot, and bows to Yuuri’s friendly applause. His roommate rises to his feet and takes the bowling ball Victor picked out, standing in front of the lane as the pins reset. Victor stands behind Yuuri, resting gentle hands on his shoulders.

“Okay, so just stand about here,” Victor moves Yuuri two steps to the right so he’s dead center. “And you want to give it a little running start so it can pick up speed. You’re going to throw it hard, but not too hard that you’ll throw it up into that old disco ball up there, okay?”

Yuuri laughs, the bright sound slightly muffled by the scarf around his mouth, and Victor smiles as he sees Yuuri nod his head. “Okay, I got it.”

Victor moves to take a seat and watch as Yuuri plans his throw, rocking from the front of his toes to his heels. His shoulders relax and he begins his throw, letting the ball go at the right moment to bowl it down the lane. It knocks over four pins and Yuuri jumps up in the air from surprise, turning to look at Victor with wide eyes.

“I got it!” Yuuri exclaims and Victor gives him a thumbs up.

“Just six more pins!” he says and gets Yuuri’s bowling ball for him. He hands Yuuri the ball and moves Yuuri to a proper spot to bowl, before Victor takes a seat again and watches Yuuri bowl once more. He manages to knock another four but not the two needed for a spare; once again Yuuri quickly turns as if to excitedly see what Victor’s reaction is.

Victor hums, rubbing his chin as he looks at the scoreboard, and decides in his mind that he’ll just let Yuuri win their first game so the younger man gets a confidence boost. Victor raises his hand for a hi-five for Yuuri, then offers up his own nitpicking on how to throw the ball at a better angle so Yuuri can bowl a strike or a spare on his next turn.

Yuuri takes the information with a nod of his head and a sigh, but plops down in his seat to watch Victor closely as he bowls for the next frame.

Halfway through the game with Yuuri leading a decent ten points ahead of Victor, Yuuri asks “Are you doing this on purpose?”.

“Doing what?” Victor feigns innocence. Yuuri’s eyebrows furrow.

“Getting all those gutter balls. I. . .I don’t want to win if you’re not going to _try_ and beat me,” Yuuri states firmly. Victor is slightly taken aback by Yuuri’s sudden tone, and Yuuri doesn’t look up to meet Victor’s eyes. “I want to be treated normal like everyone else. I want to be seen as your equal, Victor. You don’t have to go easy on me.”

Victor blinks, but then he closes his eyes and gives a nod of his head. He smiles, and holds out his hand to Yuuri.

“Alright then. I won’t go easy on you and give you a fair fight. That’s how I’ll show my love,” Victor says with a wink. Yuuri’s cheeks tint pink, but he gives a nod of his own and grasps Victor’s hand firmly in his. Yuuri’s eyes give a little twinkle, and even though Victor can’t see it, he _knows_ that Yuuri is smiling at him.

“Good. Cause I’m going to kick your butt,” Yuuri says and Victor’s lips crack into a smile.

“Oh _ho_ , talking big, aren’t you?” Victor asks. Yuuri’s cheeks are still pink, but he doesn’t avert his eyes and still faces Victor head on.

“Well, you _did_ give me a ten-point lead. And I think the student has long surpassed the master,” Yuuri says with a quiet laugh. Victor taps his chin, humming to himself.

“That is true. And it’s the greatest compliment to see a student surpass his teacher. But as your competitor, I’m taking you down. Best two out of three, loser buys dinner,” Victor proposes.

Yuuri hums, turning his bowling ball around in his hands. “I’ll have a pork cutlet bowl,” he tells Victor, and bowls a strike without any hesitation.

Two hours later, that’s just what Yuuri gets.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri and Victor graduate from ‘eating dinner together and then going to bed’ to ‘eating dinner together and then watching television together until someone falls asleep first’. Most of the time, it’s Victor who has to be gently shook awake by Yuuri and led to his bedroom. Victor offers a garbled out ‘goodnight, ‘Just Yuuri’’ and Yuuri will always give a quiet chuckle before whispering ‘goodnight, Victor’. 

On some nights that Yuuri thinks Victor is too sleepy to understand what’s going on, he hugs Victor goodnight before he retreats to his bedroom. Those are the nights where it takes Victor a little while longer to fully go to sleep, since he dwells on how Yuuri feels against him and how nice his hair smells when it tickles his nose as he pulls away.

They still don’t talk about Yuuri’s background or his face, nor does Victor know when will Yuuri feel comfortable enough to talk about it. Victor forms a story of his own about what happened to Yuuri in his past through their conversations, paying attention to when Yuuri’s eyebrows pull downwards in thought and how his voice grows softer and quieter with regret.

It always goes back to his family, whoever they are. From what Victor understands, Yuuri doesn’t think they’re terrible people. It’s evident he loves them dearly when he talks about how his father is the silliest drunk you could ever meet, or how his mother always loved attending his home recitals when Yuuri was younger.

His voice just grows quieter at the end of his stories, and he gazes off in the distance until Victor manages to bring him back around with a silly story of his own to distract him. Whatever happened between Yuuri and his parents must have been recent, since it seems his childhood was happy.

Victor tries to piece together the puzzle of Yuuri’s past, letting his mind swim around in thoughts and form answers that he’ll never be sure is correct. Yuuri is a puzzle. More than a puzzle, he’s a mystery shrouded in blue scarves and masks with shining brown eyes that Victor drowns in every time he looks in his direction.

Victor gets brought back to the present when he feels a gentle nudge against his shoulder and he looks down at Yuuri, his face illuminated by the bright colorful glow of arcade lights.

“You’re pretty bad at this,” Yuuri laughs. Victor looks up and oh, his character is getting eaten alive by zombies and the gun controller isn’t pointing anywhere to the screen. Yuuri’s character on the other hand, has made it three levels in and is now entering the abandoned hospital on the hill.

Victor gives a distracted chuckle. “Well, I guess you must have had experience with a gun,” Victor jokes and Yuuri scoffs.

“This _hardly_ counts as me being skilled with a real gun when I’m just moving my finger back and forth. . .I knew a man that was into hunting game once. He even brought his latest kill to my parents as if that would make him seem more appealing for me to marry him,” Yuuri says, mowing down the hoard of zombies without even batting an eyelash.

Victor hums. This is the first time he’s heard something about Yuuri getting a proposal from someone. It doesn’t seem to faze Yuuri too much, so Victor clears his throat.

“What, someone bringing you the head of a deer doesn’t impress you?” Victor jokes. Yuuri laughs.

“No way! Besides, his personality was terrible. Just another snobby rich kid pampered by his parents,” Yuuri says. Victor gives another hum and nods his head. So, does this mean that Yuuri is also rich? It explains how he’s able to pay for rent without ever seeming to go to work. Does he still have connections with his family? What kind of work do they do?

Questions rest on Victor’s tongue as he watches Yuuri’s character go through the second level of the abandoned hospital, the music changing in tone and growing faster paced. Victor steps behind Yuuri, watching with passive interest.

“How terrible was this guy’s personality?” Victor asks. Yuuri clicks his tongue, quickly reloading the gun controller and blasting a health pack.

“He’s the kind of guy that likes to hear himself talk. The ones that brag about how much money they have, the kind of car that they drive, the brand names they wear, that sort of thing. I’ve met lots of people like that, men and women alike. Way too many times,” Yuuri murmurs, voice dropping in volume at the end.

Okay, Victor’s wandering into the unknown. So now, he has to steer Yuuri back.

His hands go up Yuuri’s shirt and tickle around his stomach. Yuuri squeals and the gun controller goes tilting upwards and back as Victor pulls Yuuri into his embrace and laughs in his ear.

“You got to be alert! The zombies are going to eat you! Quick, shoot!” Victor warns, blowing a raspberry into Yuuri’s clavicle to elicit another laugh that tickles Victor’s ears. Yuuri’s glasses slip down as he tries to raise the gun up to shoot away the zombies swarming his character. But he isn’t quick enough and soon undead hands and gaping jaws fill the screen with blood splatter.

Victor gives a sad sigh. “Aw, you died,” he says with an exaggerated pout. Yuuri turns and gives Victor a hit in his shoulder that Victor pretends he is wounded from, griping it tight in his hand and giving a puppy-eyed whimper.

“Just because _you_ died earlier on in the game didn’t mean you could mess me up!” Yuuri accuses. There’s no real anger in his voice, his eyes are shining behind his glasses and he’s still trying to catch his breath from the tickle attack. Victor gives a shrug.

“I wouldn’t _dare_ try and steal away a win from you, my darling roommate,” Victor muses with a little smile that paints pink over Yuuri’s face. Victor places his hands on his hips and winks. “You can try to beat me in Dance Dance Revolution again. That one doesn’t take as many points off our cards,” Victor suggests.

Yuuri quirks an eyebrow. “You mean _you_ try to beat _me_. I won that last round,” Yuuri corrects. Victor chuckles, reaching down to take Yuuri’s hand in his own and lead him away from the zombie shooter. Yuuri tenses at the touch for only a second, but his hand relaxes in Victor’s hold.

Victor’s been slow and cautious with his touches. Yuuri is used to hand-holding and he’s fine with hugs from behind. Hugs from the front are met with more hesitation and stiffness, and he still may be a little bit embarrassed afterwards.

Victor hasn’t touched Yuuri’s face since that time they had pizza, but he really wants to. There’s something at the back of his mind that really wants to feel his palm against Yuuri’s cheek, aching like a distant reminder and plays constantly in his head.

Yuuri squeezes Victor’s hand and Victor looks over at the man pointing over at a claw machine filled with stuffed animals.

“That dog looks like Makkachin,” Yuuri points out. Sure enough, there’s a brown poodle plushie sitting atop a Dalmatian and Pomeranian stuffed dog. Its shiny black eyes are just as hypnotic as Makkachin’s, urging someone to swipe their arcade card and waste their time and money away trying to win it.

Victor squeezes Yuuri’s hand back. “Do you want one?” Victor asks and Yuuri shakes his head.

“I have Makkachin as my dog.”

“ _Our_ dog.”

“Same thing,” Yuuri says with a lazy shrug. He adjusts his mask, eyes still looking over at claw machine and all the fuzzy animals. Victor squeezes Yuuri’s hand once more, pulling Yuuri over to the claw machine.

“I’m going to win you one,” Victor announces, inspecting the poodle’s location and likelihood of the claw managing to grab it. The Pomeranian might get in the way, but Victor is sure that he can get the poodle if it doesn’t topple over.

Victor gets his arcade card out and swipes it, the panels of the machine flashing a bright pink neon and number of tries remaining pop up next to the joystick.

“You really don’t have to, Victor,” Yuuri murmurs, watching the claw in disbelief as it rattles to life when Victor wraps his hand around the controller. Victor clicks his tongue, moving the claw just above the poodle’s round head.

“Are you doubting my ability to win you a toy?”

“After watching your skills in other arcade games, just a bit,” Yuuri says. His voice is so soft-spoken, but Victor hears the playful edge of teasing on his words. Victor smiles despite Yuuri’s little faith that he will win, pressing the button to drop the claw.

It opens around the poodle’s head at an awkward angle and doesn’t clamp down as tightly as Victor wants it to. When the claw rises, the poodle tilts itself over to the side with its hind legs facing upwards. Victor frowns, hums, repositions the claw on his second try and drops it to grab the poodle again. This time around, the claw opens around the poodle and grabs air.

Yuuri brings the back of his hand to his covered mouth and fails terribly at hiding his snickers.

“Do you think you should give up?” Yuuri asks, quietly, patiently, like he’s trying to assure Victor that it’s quite alright if he does want to give up. But dammit, Victor is a man of his word. If he said he’s going to win Yuuri a stuffed animal, he’s going to win Yuuri a stuffed animal. Even if he has to use the Yuri Plisetsky Death Kick to knock a stuffed animal into the hatch.

“I still got one more try. I’ll get him. It’s all in the wrist, Yuuri,” Victor says, shaking his wrist free of non-existent cramps. Yuuri draws in closer to look, gauging Victor’s chances of winning the poodle.

“If you say so,” Yuuri murmurs. Victor nods his head, then rubs his palms together.

“Okay,” Victor breathes, wrapping his hand around the control stick one more time. If he doesn’t get the poodle this round, then he’ll just have to swipe his card and try again. Or use the Yuri Plisetsky Death Kick if the poodle is _really close_ to falling down the hatch. Whichever comes first and will not get them kicked out of the arcade.

Victor feels his shoulders tensing as he moves the shaky claw over the poodle’s round body. Now that he looks at it, the poodle is far too big for the claw to be able to pick it up properly. Most of _all_ the stuffed animals in this machine are too big for the claw to latch onto.

Victor clicks his tongue; claw machines always have a way to cheat people out of their money. He normally doesn’t even pay any attention to these things anyways, but now he _really wants_ to win Yuuri an animal. More than he’s ever wanted to win anything in his entire life.

He presses and holds the button down for the claw to drop when he thinks he has the claw in the perfect position. It wraps its thin arms around the poodle’s round and fluffy body and lifts it out of the sea of stuffed animals. Victor doesn’t let go of the button, eyes watching, _glaring_ for the poodle not to fall while it shakes in the claw’s grasp.

And it does.

It topples down just as it nears the hatch with an awkward jolt and hits another stuffed animal as it falls. _That_ is the stuffed animal that gets knocked down the hatch.

Victor throws his hands up in the air and groans aloud, while Yuuri crouches down and retrieves the animal that Victor accidentally won instead. When he pulls it free, Victor takes a good look at it and-

. . .He doesn’t know what the heck it is.

Victor wants to say a seal at first, but it looks like a seal that has been stung multiple times by a bee. It’s also an ugly green color, like the stuffed animal is about to barf at any second. Plus, the expression it’s making isn’t any cuter, with its pink felt tongue sticking out and crooked beady black eyes. Compared to the adorable poodle, this _thing_ looks like an abomination.

Victor can’t find the words to say he’s sorry for winning the ugliest stuffed animal in existence.

But Yuuri’s cheeks are still dusted pink with fondness, and his eyes are still soft and serene as he turns the stuffed animal around in his hands. He gives the toy an experimental squeeze, and it emits the shrillest wheeze Victor has ever heard, more annoying that the squeak of Makkachin’s chew toys.

Yuuri begins to laugh.

It’s not at all quiet like he’s trying to hold it in out of politeness for people around them. It’s a laugh that makes Yuuri’s entire body shake with giggles and snorts – bright and loud and with such _spark_ that Victor feels something slowly move up through his spine and lodge in his throat with surprise.

When Yuuri squeezes the toy to his chest, it makes another dying wheeze, and Yuuri just laughs harder. There’s a sparkle of tears at the corner of his eyes; Victor can hear as Yuuri’s shoulders shake and as he wheezes for air, that he’s trying to stutter out Victor’s name in between his peals of laughter.

“V-Victor – this – it’s so cute! L-Look at its _face!_ ” Yuuri cries in between his laughter and squeezes the toy again so it wheezes in Victor’s face. Yuuri’s laughter isn’t loud enough to draw eyes in their direction, but for some reason it echoes in Victor’s ears and all around him till it’s the only sound he can hear.

Every giggle and hiccup of Yuuri trying to catch his breath, every stammered out ‘I’m sorry’ and unintentional squeeze of the toy that just gets Yuuri into another fit of giggles that he tries to work through. It vibrates loud and rings in honeyed tones, swirling around in Victor’s head in a foggy dreamy haze he doesn’t want to wake from.

Eventually, Yuuri is able to bite back his laughter and his shoulders cease to shake. He cradles the toy against him with the gentlest of touches. When he looks up at Victor, his eyes are warm.

“Thank you, Victor,” Yuuri says, resting his chin atop the stuffed animal’s head. “I love him.”

“. . .You do?” Victor asks with a raise of his eyebrow, unsure.

Yuuri nods his head. “Of course I do!” Yuuri says, looking down at the stuffed animal looking back up at him with its crooked eyes. He hums, pensive for a second, then whispers; “I’m going to name him Vicchan.”

Victor suddenly feels hot in his face.

Yuuri looks up at Victor, then immediately flushes red. “I-I mean! Because – I – well – you gave him to me and – I – um, it’s not – I mean – if you don’t want me to-”

“I don’t mind,” Victor says, smiling and still warm in the face. “Just, do you really think I look that weird?”

Yuuri squeezes Vicchan to his chest and it wheezes. “He doesn’t look weird!” Yuuri protests, giving Victor a stubborn look of his eye, a ‘how dare you even insult my child like this?’ swimming in the flush of his cheeks.

Yuuri looks down at Vicchan, bringing the animal’s face to his. “He didn’t ask to be born this way, did you, Vicchan?” Yuuri asks the stuffed animal and squeezes it so it answers with a shrill wheeze.

Victor feels a tingle of happiness in his chest, though he’s not sure why.

“Alright then. Better not let Makkachin hear him wheeze like that, otherwise he’ll make it his new chew toy,” Victor says with a little laugh. Yuuri nods his head in agreement.

He squeezes Vicchan one more time and laughs at the noise, before he lets his left-hand fall limp to his side. Victor meets him halfway, wrapping his hand around Yuuri’s and feeling Yuuri squeeze his palm.

“Okay, time to kick your butt at Dance Dance Revolution again,” Yuuri muses. Victor laughs.

 

* * *

 

Victor falls asleep at his work desk, only waking up to the sound of three gentle knocks at the door. 

“Come in,” he says to the computer screen. The door opens, and Victor can see Yuuri poking his head inside through the reflection on his computer screen.

“Dinner’s almost ready. Are we going to eat together?” Yuuri asks. Something that Victor has learned about Yuuri is that Yuuri is also _way_ better of a chef than he is. So far, Yuuri’s meals that he’s prepared the last two nights have brought tears of joy to Victor’s eyes.

Victor rubs at his face and turns around in his chair. “Yeah, I’ll be right there. Just give me a moment,” he says, turning back to look at the current composition on the screen.

It’s for a brand new clothing line releasing in the summer adving young women between the ages of seventeen to twenty-two to go out to the beach in style. He’s played around with some old sixties beach music and sat through ten songs out of the current Top 40 list to get some inspiration for a certain sound.

So far, Victor only has a few bars of music that only last a minute for an ad that is supposed to be five.

“Can I ask what you’re working on?” Yuuri asks. His voice is quiet, like Victor is free to snap ‘no’ and he’ll leave Victor alone. But Victor quickly turns around to face the man now fully standing in the room, his hands behind his back and light blue scarf firmly wrapped around the lower half of his face.

“Just the usual. Ad for a woman’s summer line of clothing,” Victor says and leans back in his chair. “Tell me, what kind of music makes you think about the beach and summer?”

Yuuri considers Victor’s words. Then, he taps at the spot where his chin is beneath the scarf. “Um, guitar maybe? Something relaxing? I don’t know. I’ve never been to the beach before.”

Victor feels like he should have expected that, but nevertheless he’s still surprised.

“Would you want to go to the beach?” Victor asks. June is next week, and the beach is going to start getting crowded with teens and college kids out on summer vacation.

Yuuri shakes his head ‘no’, running his fingertips over his scarf. Ah, that’s true. Yuuri wouldn’t be able to get into the water with a mask on or a scarf that can get wet. Victor discards the thoughts of teaching Yuuri how to surf or splashing him with sea water, reaching for his Gibson acoustic to pull onto his lap.

“Guitar, huh?” he murmurs to himself, reaching for his pick behind him. He fingerpicks a few notes up and down the fret, strums some chords, trying to pick out a specific sound or melody amid the random harmony. The acoustic sound echoes off the walls, going everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Victor sighs and stops the strings with his palm.

Yuuri is quiet, taking in the sight, before he gives a polite round of applause. Victor laughs, waving away Yuuri’s clapping.

“I liked it. Whatever it was,” Yuuri admits. Victor rubs the back of his neck, eyes watching as Yuuri approaches him slowly and glances at the instrument in his hands.

It’s weird that now Victor feels so in tune with Yuuri’s thoughts just by looking at his eyes. Victor only knows one part of Yuuri’s face, yet he knows all Yuuri’s expressions and what his emotions are just from his eyes, even when Yuuri tries so hard to hide it. Right now, Yuuri is curious. There’s a question just waiting on his tongue, but he doesn’t want to ask it out of worry that he’s overstepping a boundary Victor never placed.

“You want to play?” Victor offers, holding out the guitar. Yuuri blinks, then nods his head up and down and takes the guitar from Victor. He holds it awkwardly in his hands, resting his arm over the body and gingerly holds the neck.

“It’s a little different from the shamisen,” Yuuri notes, looking at the fretboard blotched with small colorful spots of paint. “More strings too.”

Victor laughs. “Here, let me show you,” Victor says, getting up and taking the guitar pick with him. He moves to stand behind Yuuri, fixing his posture from behind. His hands rest over Yuuri’s, sliding the guitar pick in between Yuuri’s fingers.

“Okay, so you hold it like this, right?” Victor says. He moves Yuuri’s fingers along the second fret to form an A chord and strums Yuuri’s hand to produce the sound, loud and humming. Makkachin is at the door in seconds, ears raised to figure out what’s that noise. Victor chuckles lightly behind Yuuri’s ear.

“Okay, that’s A. And this,” he moves Yuuri’s left hand again over the fret and helps Yuuri strum, “Now that one is a D chord. And this last one right here,” another change of hands, another loud strum, “That’s E. Got it?”

Yuuri nods his head in understanding. “A,” he says and moves his hand to form an A chord. The strum is a little off, but Victor doesn’t correct him just yet. He just watches as Yuuri goes over the chords to himself, quietly whispering the names as he changes fingers over the frets and the strings.

Yuuri’s hair smells lightly of peppermint and coconut; Victor recognizes the scent from one of his own bottles of shampoo. It smells nicer in Yuuri’s hair, Victor thinks. It makes his hair look shinier too. Softer even. Almost makes Victor want to card through Yuuri’s hair to compare how soft it is.

“Is that it?” Yuuri’s voice suddenly asks, startling Victor out of his thoughts. Victor didn’t realize it, but his hands have found their way to Yuuri’s waist, his chest against Yuuri’s back. Victor quickly moves his hands away and shove them in his pockets.

“Uh yeah. Yeah. I mean, those are all the chords you really need to play a song,” Victor says, looking down at Makkachin sitting and looking up at them with a wag of his tail. Makkachin begins to pant, and Victor imagines a question mark popping up over the dog’s head to go along with his curious eyes.

“What type of song?” Yuuri asks, strumming an open chord just because. Victor chuckles, reaching around to place his hands over Yuuri’s again with gentle hesitation.

“One of the greatest songs ever written,” Victor muses, smiling at the confused quirk of Yuuri’s eyebrow as he moves Yuuri’s hand into A chord position.

“ _You are my sunshine, my only sunshine_ ,” Victor sings, lowering his voice to a ridiculously deep tone. Yuuri immediately bursts out laughing and Victor laughs along too, trying to sing through his smile as he moves Yuuri’s hand to the D chord.

“ _You make me happy~ when skies are grey~_ ” Yuuri fumbles with switch back to A chord, but he keeps strumming along to Victor’s movement of his wrist. “We’re going to switch back and forth between these two, okay?”

“Mmm,” Yuuri hums. Victor’s fingers press Yuuri’s down when he moves back to D chord and strums.

“ _You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you~_ ” Yuuri correctly switches at the right time back to A chord. Victor smiles. “Okay and we’re going to go to E on ‘take’ and back to A.”

Yuuri hums again. He relaxes against Victor’s body, and Victor feels his chin lower down to tuck into the crook of Yuuri’s neck.

“ _Please don’t take, my sunshine, away~_ ” Victor muses, his breath warm over Yuuri’s exposed neck. Victor barely catches a shiver from Yuuri as he strums the final chord, letting the sound resonate in the room.

It’s quiet. Yuuri’s body feels. . .nice against Victor. He’s warm, soft but lean. It’s. . .actually a perfect fit. Like this is the most natural spot for Yuuri to be, in Victor’s arms.

Victor’s chin rises with Yuuri’s slow intake of air. “You’re. . .a pretty bad singer,” Yuuri quietly admits. Victor feigns a gasp.

“ _Wow_ , how rude.” And Yuuri starts to laugh. He shakes against Victor and his shoulder bounces with Victor’s chin still resting on it.

“Makkachin, am I a bad singer?” Victor asks. Makkachin barks, wagging his tail. “That’s it. No biscuits for you.”

Yuuri laughter dissolves into a fit of giggles hissed out between his teeth, and turns in Victor’s grasp. Suddenly, Victor realizes how close they are as Yuuri lowers the guitar down, holding it by the top of its neck.

Victor’s breathing goes shallow for a moment as he sees Yuuri’s eyes brighten behind the lenses of his glasses. It’s warmer in the room; Victor feels the sensation move down his neck and twitch out through his fingertips.

There’s a word on Victor’s lips that his mind has yet to decipher. He wants to say something, but he doesn’t know what. It must have to do with Yuuri’s eyes and how he’s looking at him, soft swirls of brown searching as they always do. Or maybe the glow of the floor lamp shaping the shadows of Yuuri’s face. Or maybe, he just wants to ask Yuuri about the shampoo and if he wants to go to the store to get another bottle.

Victor’s nose wrinkles suddenly, and he tears his gaze away from Yuuri’s eyes to look upwards.

“Is something burning?” Victor asks and Yuuri jumps, quickly handing Victor the guitar.

“I-I’ll get it!” Yuuri stammers, dancing around Makkachin before he runs out of the work room and out to the kitchen. Victor looks at the spot where Yuuri stood, then turns his gaze to Makkachin still sitting and still looking up at him with an inquisitive look. Victor shrugs and clears his suddenly dry throat.

“Right. Well. Um.” Victor scratches the back of his neck. “Dinner time?”

Makkachin barks to that.


	3. Chapter 3

“Everyone, this is Yuuri.”

Just like Victor thought they would, the heads around the table whir over to the blond at the pool table. Yuri clicks his tongue and doesn’t acknowledge the coincidence, racking up the pool balls while Otabek readies his cue stick. Mila is the first one to approach Yuuri with a friendly hand to shake.

“Nice to meet you, Yuuri,” she says. Victor rests his hand on the small of Yuuri’s back and watches the tightness in Yuuri’s posture ease away. Yuuri shakes her hand, then adjusts his scarf around his face.

“Should we use last names when referring to you two now? How is that going to work?” Mila asks with a confused tone, looking between the two Yuris.

Victor shakes his head. “He’s ‘Just Yuuri’.”

Phichit, who also gets up from the table to shake Yuuri’s hand and greet him, quirks a curious eyebrow.

“Just Yuuri?” he asks. From the table, Christophe watches the conversation unfold. Sara is talking to someone on her cell phone. Probably Michele questioning when she’s going to be back at the shop, and if there’s any creepy perverts hanging around that he’ll beat up if they’re giving her trouble.

“Yeah, ‘Just Yuuri’,” Victor states. Yuuri averts his gaze to his feet, twisting the fabric of his shirt between his fingers. Phichit rubs his chin, slowly nodding his head.

“. . .I like it,” Phichit says and smiles. “It’s kinda like the whole ‘one name only’ thing artists do. Like Adele. Or Lorde. Or Madonna!”

“Do you sing, ‘Just Yuuri’?” Mila inquires with a teasing wink. Yuuri shakes his head ‘no’.

“I-I don’t sing.”

“He’s a virtuoso. He plays a thousand instruments,” Victor gushes. Yuuri is already reddening; the sight makes Victor let out a fawning sigh. Mila whistles in amazement while Phichit ‘oohs’. He gives his cell phone a little shake in Yuuri’s direction.

“Do you have an Instagram?” Phichit asks.

“O-Oh, n-no," Yuuri stammers out.

“Twitter? Facebook?”

Another denying shake of Yuuri’s head. Phichit gapes. Sara drifts over to join in the conversation, leaning her weight on Mila as she looks at Yuuri.

“Wow, I’ve never met someone that’s not on _some_ social media,” Sara says, everyone giving an agreeing nod of the head. Christophe is the last to approach Yuuri, his hands in his pockets as he takes Yuuri in from head to toe to make sense of the mystery he’s been trying to figure out for the past three months.

Christophe’s eyes rest on Yuuri’s scarf; Yuuri notices his gaze and immediately starts to fiddle with it.

“Ah, Yuuri, this is Christophe. He was my old roommate,” Victor introduces with a gesture of his hand to Christophe. Yuuri keeps his eyes cast to the ground as he holds out one hand to Christophe while the other holds his scarf to his face.

“Nice to meet you,” Yuuri mumbles. Christophe shakes Yuuri’s hand, gives him a friendly smile.

“Is Victor taking good care of you?” Christophe asks. Yuuri looks up at him, confused.

“Oh. Um. Yes. He is,” Yuuri answers, truthful and without much thought.

Christophe hums and waggles his eyebrows. Yuuri flushes scarlet immediately, retreating his hand back to his side like Christophe’s hand is on fire. “I-I mean – I – he’s a good roommate. We – um – I – he’s nice?” Yuuri looks over his shoulder at Victor for a split second. “I. . .yeah. He’s nice.”

Christophe chuckles. “Yeah, he was a decent roommate. Does he still walk around the apartment in his black briefs?” Christophe asks to purely be a shit.

Yuuri’s eyes widen, then he pauses to consider and remember if Victor actually did that around him. Victor cracks a grin and gives a shove to Christophe’s shoulder.

“You walked around in your underwear too! Even a Speedo!” Victor calls out.

“Oh come on, boys, we still haven’t eaten yet,” Mila chides with a groan.

“Hey, I look good in a Speedo,” Christophe states.

“I think I might actually have some photos on my phone from Sara’s pool party last year. Hey Yuuri, you want to see?” Phichit teases with a grin.

“That wasn’t a Speedo, that was a _mankini_. Don’t bring those images up, Phichit,” Sara pleads, pinching the bridge of her nose. Phichit just laughs, scrolling through his photo library anyways in search of the pool pictures.

“Is anyone going to play or what?!” Yuri yells from the pool table, heads turning to see Yuri annoyingly tapping his foot. He gestures to Victor and Yuuri with an irritated wave of his hand. “They’re here so we can at least order the food!”

“Alright, alright!” Mila yells back. She tangles her fingers between Sara’s and tilts her head in the direction of the food bar. “Let’s see what kind of appetizers they got here,” she says with a grin that Sara smiles back at, and drags the Italian girl around the corner of the small area they have just for themselves. 

Victor juts a thumb over at the pool table. “Want to play?” Victor asks. Yuuri raises his eyebrows, then furrows them and crosses his arms. “Ah. You never played pool?” Victor asks next. Yuuri shakes his head ‘no’. “Well, we can just watch this time and play next game.”

“Okay,” Yuuri says with that smiling voice. He turns and starts to approach the pool table. Christophe comes up from behind Victor and clamps a hand on Victor’s shoulder to keep him from leaving. 

“He really doesn’t take off that scarf?” Christophe asks, stepping aside so Phichit can get past and traumatize Yuuri with the images of Victor and Christophe in far too tight Speedos. Victor nods his head, watching Yuuri flush bright red while Phichit blabs on about the party and laughs at Yuuri’s expressions.

“Yeah. Don’t make it obvious, okay? It took a lot to convince him that you guys won’t judge him for covering his face and I don’t want him to feel like he’s not welcome,” Victor warns.

“I’m not going to judge him. . .is he going to take the scarf off to eat?”

Victor blinks. Crap, he didn’t think about that.

Victor rubs the back of his neck.  “I. . .we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Victor conveniently hand waves the problem, and heads over to talk to Yuuri and Phichit when he sees Yuuri trying to hold in a laugh at whatever Phichit is showing on his phone.

 

* * *

 

The bridge needing to be crossed comes quicker than Victor realizes. As he shows Yuuri how to shoot the cue ball - one hand resting on Yuuri’s hand positioning the cue stick, while the other holds his hip and guides him into a good posture - Mila and Sara come back with some sliders, wings, and onion rings nice and piping hot. 

“It’s about time,” Yuri grumbles. Mila rolls her eyes, placing the food down on the table while Sara distributes the plates. She then looks over her shoulder at Victor and Yuuri at the pool table, gesturing to the food with a wave of her hand.

“Are you two going to come eat?” Mila asks. Yuuri tenses against Victor and Victor gives Yuuri’s hand a small squeeze.

“Um, we’re fine!” Victor calls out with a laugh, going back to look at the pool balls as he moves his hand from Yuuri’s hip to rest gently on his forearm. “Okay, so you just have to sink the seven but not the eight yet-”

“Your stomach is growling,” Yuuri murmurs. Victor gives another squeeze of Yuuri’s hand.

“I’m fine, solnyshko,” Victor whispers. “Now, how are you going to-”

There’s a loud clatter of a plate being dropped onto the pool table beside them, both men turning to see two sliders and an irritated Yuri glaring at them.

“The old hag told me to give them to you,” Yuri spits, looking at Yuuri with a raised eyebrow. “And when are you going to take that thing off? It’s fucking eighty degrees outside.”

Victor’s smile strains on his face. “We’re fine, Yura,” he says through his teeth. Yuri clicks his tongue, gives another look at Yuuri’s scarf, then stomps away from the pair. Victor sighs through his nose, relaxing his grip over Yuuri’s hand. “Anyways, you should go in at an angle so you don’t make a scratch-”

“They’re watching us.”

Victor glances up. Sure enough, there are a few eyes watching them closely, Christophe’s and Yuri’s gazes the most intense.

“It’s okay, just ignore them-”

“I don’t – I can’t –” Yuuri abruptly shifts in Victor’s arms, releasing his hold on the cue stick. “I’m sorry, I just. . .” his hands go over the covered portion of his face. “I need to use the bathroom,” Yuuri says in a rush and hurries away from Victor’s touch and calls of his name.

Victor grips the cue stick in his fist, then turns to look back at his group of friends. There’s a mixed expression of confusion and concern across all the faces, and Victor sighs. He rubs his forehead, taking the plate that Yuri had delivered back over to the table with all the other food.

Mila opens her mouth to apologize if she did anything wrong by offering them food, but Yuri cuts her off before she has a chance to speak.

“What’s wrong with him?” Yuri blurts out. Victor smiles.

“That tactless tongue of yours,” Victor responds. Mila swats Yuri in the chest.

“What did you say to him?!” she shouts and Yuri smacks her hand away.

“Nothing! God! Just asked him why he was wearing that scarf when it’s fucking _summer!_ Don’t act like you didn’t want to ask about it!” Yuri spits. Mila sputters, then crosses her arms over her chest and frowns.

“Okay, yeah! I am curious! But you don’t just go _questioning_ people and making them feel uncomfortable! We just met him and Victor’s been living with him for a _while_ and  _he_ doesn’t even know what’s under that scarf,” Mila says and then looks at Victor, “Which is pretty shifty.”

“See? I told you it was weird,” Christophe pipes up. Victor pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I _know_ it’s strange. But look, I don’t want him feeling uncomfortable so can you guys _please_ not bring it up or stare at his scarf-” Victor gives a pointed look to Yuri and Christophe as he says this, “he doesn’t have any friends to my knowledge so just. . .I don’t know, be nice to him? Not make him feel weird?”

Sara and Otabek nod their heads in understanding. Phichit rubs his chin.

“Is it like a bad nose job or something?” he asks aloud.

“It’s been about four months though. No way it can be a bad nose job,” Christophe muses.

“Maybe it’s a mole. My aunt has a really big mole on her upper lip she hides with makeup. Maybe it’s the same thing,” Sara suggests. Mila snorts at the mental image and Sara gives her a playful hit to the shoulder.

“I used to wear a face mask to hide my razor burns when I first started shaving,” Otabek says. Yuri scoffs.

“It’s been _four months_ , Beka. You’re telling me a grown man didn’t learn how to not butcher up his face?” Yuri says. Phichit gapes, eyes sparkling with intrigue and excitement.

“What if it’s the coolest mustache _ever?_ Like, those gentleman handlebar mustaches that curl up-” Phichit brings his thumb and his pointer over his upper lip to draw out the mustache he’s dreaming of and slumps in his seat at the table. “I’d want to grow one of those!”

“Wouldn’t look right on you,” Mila says with a wave of her hand. “Besides, if it was a cool mustache, then why would he try to hide it?”

“Maybe it’s a lame mustache. Like a 70s-porno mustache,” Yuri says, which gets a few snickers around the table. "Whatever. He's just fucking _weird_."

“Um, excuse me?”

Everyone jumps and heads whir to see Yuuri standing behind Victor, quietly eavesdropping with hands folded behind his back. Victor pales for only a brief second, before his face brightens with fake excitement and he quickly goes to wrap an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders.

“Ah! Yuuri! My darling roommate! How long were you standing-”

“What type of mustache do you have growing under there?” Phichit asks with a bright smile.

“ _Phichit!_ ” Mila and Sara snap.

Victor facepalms.

Yuuri blinks, gently dragging his fingertips over his scarf, then looks to Victor.

“Have you been talking about me?”

The table erupts in protest, but Victor already sees Yuuri’s shoulders beginning to sag and his body curling inwards. He’s pale, gentle flutter of his eyelashes that speaks disappointment and a steadily lowering value of self-worth. Victor turns Yuuri away from the table, pulling him close.

“Yuuri?” Victor asks. Yuuri immediately turns his face down to the floor. Victor tilts it back up by his chin. “No, look at me-”

“Can we just go home?” Yuuri asks, moving Victor’s hand away so he can keep his face turned towards the ground. Victor is still, then he nods his head.

“. . .Okay,” he murmurs. He gently slides his hand down Yuuri’s arm down to his hand where he wraps his fingers around. Yuuri doesn’t hold his hand back, resting loosely in Victor’s grip. Victor doesn’t make a comment about it.

He looks over his shoulder at the group at the table. “Ah, we’re going to head home,” Victor announces and waves goodbye. There’s a murmur of ‘okay’ and ‘goodbye’s, with a few ‘we’re sorry’s thrown into the mix. Yuuri just hunches his shoulders upwards, like he already wishes that he were gone and wasn’t dragging everyone else down with him.

Victor nods his head, then with a slow pull of his hand, leads Yuuri away from all the eyes watching the two of them depart.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri locks himself in his bedroom when they get back to the apartment. Victor decides to let him have his space as he tries to cook dinner. 

He lazily turns over the fish in the frying pan, making sure it doesn’t burn while he gets lost in his thoughts. He sincerely hopes that bringing Yuuri out didn’t just set them back an entire three months in their communication. Not that Yuuri really wanted to go in the first place. Victor just twisted his arm into going with the stupid reassurance that no one will ask about the scarf.

Victor just wants Yuuri to have fun with friends. He wants Yuuri to feel more open to talking with people and Victor doesn’t know the first thing what to do. Yuuri’s as introverted as they come, and Victor likes to flaunt and socialize at events before he retires into privacy at the end of the day. How is he going to gain back Yuuri’s trust now?

Victor sighs and blindly reaches for the seasonings, knocking over the salt.

“That’s seven years of bad luck,” Yuuri’s voice pipes up. Victor turns, spotting Yuuri peeking around the corner with a clear enough view of Victor sulking over a hot stove. Victor looks down at the spilled salt, grabs a pinch of it, and throws it over his shoulder.

“There. All fixed,” Victor says with a weak smile. If only throwing salt over his shoulder could repair the mess-up he made by pushing Yuuri out of his comfort zone far too soon.

He approaches Victor slowly, feet barely making a sound against the floor as he steps to stand beside him. Yuuri takes the spoon from Victor and stirs around the vegetables frying in a skillet beside the fish, humming low to himself.

“These look about ready,” he comments.

“Okay, Chef.”

Yuuri rolls his eyes at Victor’s mini-salute just before he turns off the burner and takes the spoon back from Yuuri. Yuuri doesn’t leave Victor’s side just yet, standing and watching with his hands behind his back as the fish sizzles and pops.

“. . .I acted stupid today,” Yuuri whispers behind his face mask as Victor turns over the fish.

“What do you mean?” Victor asks, keeping his eyes on the food.

“Like, I just – I acted stupid.”

“No you didn’t-”

“Yes, I did. I acted weird and I made everyone feel uncomfortable and made you leave early-”

“Yuuri, _no_. You didn’t make anyone feel uncomfortable,” Victor corrects, voice stern. He hears Yuuri exhale a sigh from beneath the covering, reaching up to grab two plates from the cupboard above and to the right of the stove.

“I promise you, no one wanted to make you feel uncomfortable-” Victor begins.

“But that’s the thing,” Yuuri says, putting the plates down on the counter harder than he intends to. “I want people to not worry about that. I want people to treat me normal and yet, I just go around acting all sensitive and awkward and giving people a _reason_ to treat me differently. I’m just. . .I acted stupid.”

Victor turns off the burner for the fish, holding his hand out for a plate that Yuuri passes off.

“It’s my fault. I was the one that persuaded you to go because I thought you might enjoy the experience of socializing with people other than me and Makkachin,” Victor says. He casts a glance over at Makkachin currently sticking his face in his food bowl to eat and smiles. “Not that Makkachin isn’t great company, but you know what I mean.”

“Yeah. . .I really enjoyed talking with everyone too. I just made it weird by acting like that,” Yuuri says, watching as Victor plates the fish and then spoons some vegetables beside it. “. . .The entire reason for me leaving home was because I wanted to see the outside world. If I’m just going to spend my time running away from everything, I might as well pack up my things and go back home.”

Victor is quiet.

He swaps the full plate with Yuuri’s empty plate and proceeds to place the fish and vegetables. When Victor turns, Yuuri is standing at the counter just staring at his food with frustrated eyes. Victor sets his plate down beside him, bracing his hands against the counter.

“What are the things you want to see?” Victor asks. Yuuri looks up at Victor, then back down to his food.

“. . .The things we’ve been doing together. Going bowling and to the park to ride those little paddle-boats. The movies were fun too, even though you had to eat all that popcorn by yourself,” Yuuri pipes up and Victor chuckles.

“Yeah. Slipped my mind.”

Yuuri hums. He starts to trace his finger against the countertop. “We went furniture shopping and that was fun. And the arcade where you got me Vicchan. I got so many books from the bookstore and it’s nice to read in there. And I. . .I want to meet more people. I want to do more things with you, Victor. I want to go dancing and to pool parties and eat pork cutlet bowls at the restaurant down the street with you, even if I have to build a wall out of menus just to enjoy it together.”

Victor watches as Yuuri’s hand tracing drifts closer to his. Victor’s pinky sticks out to gently curl around Yuuri’s free one; a hitch in his chest forms when Yuuri’s pinky curls nice and tight around Victor’s.

“We will. We’ll do everything that you want, Yuuri, at your pace. If you want to go to the park or the movies or even McDonald’s tomorrow, sure. If you want to go rob a bank tomorrow, I might try to convince you otherwise but-” Yuuri starts to laugh and Victor smiles, tangling their fingers together. “Yeah, that’s better. I like it when you smile like that.”

Yuuri brings his free hand to his covered face. “You can’t even see my lips,” he says. Victor’s thumb gently rubs against Yuuri’s knuckles.

“I know. But you smile with your eyes too. That’s when they sparkle the most. But I bet the smile you make with your lips is just as beautiful,” Victor says, words spilling without a second thought. He lazily strokes his thumb over Yuuri’s knuckles, marveling at how soft Yuuri’s skin is beneath his touch.

He does this for a minute or so, maybe longer, until Yuuri untangles his fingers from Victor’s grasp. Victor looks up to see Yuuri looking down at the food again, face warm and pink.

“. . .The food is going to get cold,” Yuuri points out.

“. . .Yeah. . .yeah, sure,” Victor chuckles and rubs the back of his neck. “Um, your room?”

“Okay,” Yuuri says, pulling out the drawer to grab forks and knives, handing one set to Victor. Yuuri takes his plate and looks over his shoulder at Victor, before he turns and continues down the hall. Victor follows dutifully behind.

 

* * *

 

“How is he?” 

“He’s better. But I’m going to put a hold on group outings for him unless he _wants_ to go,” Victor says, restocking the pamphlets on membership cards for the bookstore. Christophe braces himself against the counter, biting the inside of his cheek.

“Did you tell him we’re sorry for-”

“Yeah, I did. But like I said, I’m not going to push him to move when he’s not ready. I know he wants to hang out again sometime, but just not now. It’s been two weeks, but we got to take baby steps,” Victor says with a reassuring smile. Christophe sighs, propping his chin in his hand.

“I know you wanted us to ignore it, but that’s all I’ve been thinking about since you first started talking about him,” Christophe mutters and Victor nods his head.

“I still think his insecurities and his past are all based around his face. And also something to do with his family. He’s twenty-four-years-old and he’s so _sheltered_. He’s never even _been_ to the movies until last month when we went,” Victor says with a confused furrow of his eyebrows. 

“He’s from a rich family, I think. One that must be quite powerful for him to have suitors asking for his hand in marriage. He said he’s had lots of people approach him, but they always leave because of his face. Which doesn’t make any sense because there’s people that marry for money instead of attraction all the time. Not that Yuuri isn’t attractive-” 

“So you _do_ have a crush on him~” Christophe purrs out of nowhere.

Victor blinks. He looks to Christophe, who is now standing upright and quirking a devilish eyebrow. Victor laughs and shakes his head.

“No. No, I don’t. We’re just friends,” Victor says through his teeth.

“Victor, I’m your friend. I know when you have a crush on someone and when you just see the person as a friend. How you were touching him and holding him, those were ‘I’m _reallyreally_ into you’ touches,” Christophe spells out.

Victor ‘pffts’, running a – shaky? – hand through his hair.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You know I’m an affectionate person. I like hugs. I hug you all the time. That doesn’t mean I have a crush on you,” Victor says. There’s a slight edge of defensiveness in his voice that he tries to quickly swallow down before Christophe notices.

“Yeah, but you don’t hang yourself off me like you do to him,” Christophe says with a flat voice. He gives a lazy wave of his hand. “There’s definitely some sexual tension building between you two. It happens. My boyfriend thought that you and me were dating when he first met you.”

Victor sputters. “ _Really?!_ ”

Christophe nods his head, then wrinkles his nose. “Which is why when he told me, I was quick to correct him. Not that you’re not attractive, but dating you would be like dating my cousin.”

“I’m not even in the immediate family?” Victor asks and Christophe rolls his eyes, shaking his head with a little laugh.

“All I’m saying is that you two looked like a couple. . .is he interested in dating guys?”

Victor shrugs. “Maybe, since he got set up with a man for marriage. He told me he was still figuring it out, I didn’t want to question him further on the topic,” Victor mutters. Christophe rubs his chin.

“If he’s interested in tagging along and you two don’t have a thing for each other, me and Phichit were thinking about going to a club opening. Apparently, Sara knows a guy who knows a guy who knows a chick who knows a guy that can get our names on the list,” Christophe drawls and Victor chuckles.

“Um, I’ll ask him, but I can’t guarantee it.”

“What about you?”

“Huh?”

“If he doesn’t want to come, are you going to? Or are you going to stay home and keep him warm?” Christophe asks with a wink of his eye. Victor clicks his tongue, fixing the badge on his shirt that didn’t need fixing in the first place.

“. . .Sure. I’ll come with,” Victor murmurs. Christophe hums, turning back to the cash register when a customer approaches with their stack of books in their hand.

Victor turns to busy himself with a stack of online orders waiting to be picked up, his mind drifting over to Yuuri when he doesn’t even try to.

 

* * *

 

“You should have a good time,” Yuuri murmurs, face half buried in his pillow. Victor smooths back Yuuri’s bangs to rest on his sweating forehead, worrying his mouth thin. 

“I _should_ stay here and make sure you’re okay,” Victor says. There’s an urge to cradle Yuuri’s cheek, but he resists it. Yuuri hums, holding Victor’s wrist tenderly in his hands.

“It’s just a cold, Victor. I’ve had colds. Besides, I’m feeling better than I did earlier in the week. I’m just too tired to really go dancing,” Yuuri explains. His eyes keep fluttering open and shut, glasses awkwardly perched on his face. Victor reaches to gently take them off, and set them on Yuuri’s nightstand.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“. . .I’m pretty sure we have some canned soup in the cupboard somewhere-”

“I threw it away,” Yuuri mumbles. Victor blinks.

“Why?”

“It expired.”

“. . .What? Soup doesn’t expire.”

Yuuri raises an eyebrow at him. “Victor, if it has an expiration date, it expires. The soup was at the back of the cabinet, covered in dust, and was okay to eat four years ago,” Yuuri garbles out against the cotton of his scarf.

It’s a little bit looser than normal; when Yuuri moves his jaw, Victor swears he can see a sliver of pink skin. It makes Victor feel hot under the collar and his hands clammy, like watching someone expose the taut skin of a bare leg normally hidden by a long, flowing fabric.

Yuuri curls up more into his covers. “I’ll be fine. Maybe I’ll order some soup from across the street. Go have fun. You remember how to have fun without me, don’t you?” Yuuri asks, his voice scratchy as he tries to garner a chuckle out of Victor.

Victor opens his mouth to protest, before he closes it when Yuuri raises his finger and gently prods at the whorl atop Victor’s head. He presses down a few times, then gives a quiet little laugh.

“Just come back soon and tell me all about it, okay?” Yuuri asks, moving his hand away to flop uselessly at his side. His eyes fall closed, sniffling behind his scarf. Victor sits for a moment, then reaches out to twine his fingers with Yuuri.

“I’ll be back at midnight, okay?” Victor quietly reassures. Yuuri doesn’t open his eyes, but he does give a light squeeze of Victor’s hand to know that he heard him. “Take care of yourself, ‘Just Yuuri’.”

Yuuri breathes out a chuckle, then sneezes. The scarf billows from his face and he’s quick to hold it back from slipping. He groans and pulls the bedsheets up over his head. Victor gives a smile to the lump in the bed, hears the quiet wheeze of Yuuri snuggling against Vicchan, then quietly exits out of Yuuri’s bedroom and closes the door shut.

Christophe is going to be here in a couple of minutes. Victor is showered up and dressed to leave, but he’s currently pacing the floor trying to think of an excuse not to go. Makkachin sits on the couch and watches his owner move erratically around the kitchen messing with the cuffs of his bomber jacket, until Victor finally stops in front of the television and looks at the dog.

“Makkachin, I need you to take care of Yuuri while I’m gone since he’s sick,” Victor instructs. “He needs lots of water and he needs to get soup and he needs bedrest and Alka-Seltzer – we didn’t run out of that, did we?” Victor runs down the hall to the bathroom and checks the medicine cabinet. Nope, there’s still some tablets in stock.

Victor exits the bathroom, quickly stopping to peek in Yuuri’s bedroom to see if Yuuri is okay after he last saw him five minutes ago.

“I’m trying to sleep, Victor,” is Yuuri’s mumbled response.

“Right. Sorry. I’ll be back at midnight.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

Victor leaves Yuuri to rest and enters the living room where Makkachin is still sitting and still watching him with shiny black eyes. Victor runs a hand through his hair and places the other on his hip.

“It’s normal if I want to stay with him and see that he’s okay, right? I mean, I would have done the same thing for Christophe if he had a cold. It’s totally normal,” Victor tells Makkachin. Makkachin cocks his head to the side, which grabs a groan from Victor.

“Yeah, you’re right. I wouldn’t. But. . .I don’t know, that doesn’t mean I have a _crush_ on Yuuri. I mean, I don’t know much about him. It doesn’t make sense for me to have a crush on someone I barely know,” Victor says.

Makkachin pants and Victor laughs. “ _No,_ those weren’t _dates_. We were just hanging out as _friends_. Friends go to the arcade and the park and movies and. . .you know. Do those things. And it’s fun when we hang out! I really like taking Yuuri out and seeing him have fun. I. . .I like sharing Yuuri’s ‘first times’. . .I don’t know, it feels like. . .it’s something just for us. . .but that doesn’t mean I have a _crush_ on him.”

Makkachin turns onto his back and stretches out his leg. Victor nods his head. “I agree, Yuuri is a very easy person to get a crush on. He’s nice and gentle and his eyes are _so beautiful_ , and he knows _so much_. Even if he doesn’t get out much, he’s _so smart_. And his laugh is nice and I just _know_ his smile is nice and. . .okay, maybe I do have a crush on him. But it’s a small crush. It’s nothing big. It’ll probably blow over after tonight when I meet someone at the club.”

Makkachin yawns. “You’re right, I’m overthinking things like always. We're just friends. I mean, adding love just makes things messy and complicated and Yuuri _already_ is complicated. I’m just. . .it’s been a while since I’ve dated. I’m overthinking things and it’s probably nothing. That’s must be it. I just don’t have to think about him while I’m out.”

Makkachin gets up and pads over to his bed to grab a toy. He looks over at Victor, squeaky toy held tightly between his teeth. Victor nods his head, smiling. “Thanks for talking this through with me, boy,” Victor fawns, getting to his knees and opening his arms out for a hug that Makkachin happily jumps into.

 

* * *

 

It’s easier said than done to not think about Yuuri while Victor is at the club. 

The music manages to get him in the mood, the strobe lights and scent of alcohol and cologne lightly mixing in with sweat gets a low buzz burning at the back of his throat. Phichit is already making the best of his night by latching onto a Korean man dressed far too formally for a club like this.

“He’s a lawyer!” Phichit loudly – and drunkenly – gushes to Victor and Christophe. The guy – a lawyer apparently – just keeps his eyes focused on the crowds surrounding their table while he sips from his drink he brought with him.

“Wow~ let’s hope he doesn’t file a restraining order,” Christophe says behind the rim of his martini. Phichit laughs, too drunk to process what Christophe said as he sloppily nuzzles his head against the lawyer’s shoulder. Christophe turns to look at Victor, who is currently on his fifth beer and letting a sweet burn work through his spine.

“How’re you holding up?” he asks. Victor licks his lips.

“Do you think Makka took his temperature? I should – hic – call him,” Victor slurs out. Christophe sighs.

“Still burnt out on ‘Just Yuuri’, I see,” Christophe says and rises to his feet, looking over at the lawyer. “I don’t want to leave you alone with them, but I’m going to get myself another soda. I’ll treat you to a drink if you want.”

“Oh my _god_ , did you know he’s a _lawyer????_ ” Phichit laughs, slamming his hand on the table like he just said the most _hilarious_ joke. The man he’s hanging onto furrows his eyebrows and sighs.

“Please do. Coke.”

Christophe gives him a thumbs up and starts to make his way through the crowd towards the bar. Victor sighs and slouches on the bench, looking at the other man through his eyelashes.

“What brings you here to a place like this?” Victor asks. The man raises a full eyebrow, leaning back into his seat while Phichit falls with him and continues to laugh at nothing.

“I’m here with an associate of mine as her chauffeur, since she is most likely getting drunk at the bar,” he explains dryly and then looks down at Phichit on his arm. “Not that this is any better. Is he always this clingy?”

“Be thankful he’s not the angry type of drunk,” Victor fawns with a smile. The man rolls his eyes again, and Victor slumps back against the bench, swallowing down the last bit of his drink down his throat.

Now that he looks around, Yuuri probably wouldn’t like a place like this. It stinks of sweat and body spray and fog smoke. The music is too loud and there’s too many people to be bumping up against that could knock off his scarf or pull his medical mask askew. Yuuri’s too quiet for this type of thing. Victor thinks he’s more of a ballroom dancing kind of guy, the gentleman type like he brought up.

Victor knows that there’s an autumn ball that gets held as part of an old 19th century festival. Maybe they’ll go to that if Yuuri is interested. That sounds like it will be fun. Yuuri will get dressed up like a prince and. . .and _god_ , he’ll be so beautiful with a gold scarf around his face and starlight in his eyes.

Victor licks his lips. “Is it midnight yet?”

“It’s ten,” the man announces, looking at his watch. Phichit snorts.

“You’re so _smart_. Probably because you’re a _lawyer, **ha**_ ,” Phichit blurts and looks to Victor. “H-Hey! Why doesn’t ‘Just Yuuri’ hire him to sue the people that gave his bad nose job?!” Phichit asks. Victor starts to unbutton the first few buttons on his shirt, feeling hot under his skin.

“We said it’s not a nose job,” Victor says aloud, wiping the back of his mouth.

“Who’s this ‘Just Yuuri’ person you keep bringing up?” the man asks out of bored curiosity. Phichit laughs again.

“Victor’s _boyfriend_ ,” Phichit blurts. “He’s a singer. He’s like – like Sia where he only has one name and you can’t see his face, which _I_ think is pretty cool. And he’s so _nice_ ,” Phichit wheezes. The man doesn’t seem to know what to make of Phichit’s drunk ramblings, but his eyebrows are pulled down harder in thought than they should be.

“. . .This ‘Just Yuuri’. . .is his name Yuuri Katsuki, by any chance?” the lawyer asks.

Victor manages to keep on a straight face, the heat rising to his face.

“Don’t know who you’re talking about,” Victor slurs. His fingers undo the last button of his shirt and he opens it up so the sticky hot air of the club can hit his skin directly. The man frowns.

“Let me ask a different question then. The Yuuri that you know, does he have his face covered in a way that you can only see his eyes but never his nose?”

“. . .Is there something wrong with _your_ Yuuri’s nose? Because-” Victor hiccups, “ _My_ Yuuri’s nose is _cute_ because he’s cute all over. He’s soft and cute and I don’t have a crush on him, but I _can_ admit that he’s really nice and smart. And _also_ , he’s cute.”

“Does he look like a pig?” the man questions sharply and Phichit gasps.

“That’s so mean! He doesn’t look like a pig! He’s cute!” Phichit exclaims. The man clicks his tongue.

“I _heard_ you both say that. But his _nose?_ Does his face look like a _pig’s?_ ” the man asks again and Victor sighs.

“Is it midnight yet?” Victor asks, diverting the conversation. He’s drunk, but not so shitfaced that he can’t process what’s going on. He doesn’t know this guy, but Victor doesn’t like these questions.

He doesn’t know what he’ll ask for if there’s a possibility that the Yuuri cuddled up in Victor’s apartment with an ugly stuffed animal and a poodle keeping guard, is the same as this ‘Yuuri Katsuki’ who apparently has the face of a pig.

No way they’re the same. Yuuri’s so pretty. He’s so _fucking beautiful~_

The man scoffs. “Where’s your friend? I’m not going to get a straight answer out of either of you,” he bites. Victor can faintly see Christophe approaching, smiling with two drinks in his hands as he politely declines a dance with a half-naked man covered with glow sticks.

Victor stumbles out of the booth with a rattle of the table and crosses the small distance to reach Christophe first. He flings his arms around his friend’s shoulders, taking the coke to down in one gulp.

“ _Chhhrriiiisss_ , let’s go _dannnnce_ ,” Victor drawls with a fake smile and a sloppy gyration of his hips. Christophe tries to keep them both upright and his soda from spilling, looking at Victor with a raised eyebrow.

“You’re still somewhat dressed so you’re not _that_ drunk. What’s wrong with you?” Christophe asks. Victor clicks his teeth, starting to shrug out of his shirt and unbuckle his pants.

“Nuh – hic – nothing!” Victor protests.

“Um, excuse me,” the lawyer from behind tries to speak up and Victor tenses. He quickly releases his arms from around Christophe to turn and fling himself at the man currently trying to stand up and break away from Phichit’s hold.

The man barely has time to brace himself before Victor has his arms around his shoulders and he’s bringing his lips down to smash against his frown in a sloppy kiss that puts Makkachin’s licks to shame.

Phichit gives a cry of protest as the man pushes Victor away to hold at arm’s length. “Oh my _god_ , Victor! You’re dating Sia! Let me have the lawyer!” Phichit yells too loudly. Christophe sets his soda down, grabbing Victor to pull to his side.

“Okay. I have no idea what’s going on, but I think I should take them home because they’re drifting into ‘annoying drunk’ territory. I apologize for my friend showing you an impersonation of his poodle,” Christophe says with a smile crooked on his lips. He reaches over to pull Phichit up to his feet.

Phichit quickly leans in to kiss the lawyer on the mouth, less sloppy than Victor’s kiss but still just as drunk and messy. The lawyer doesn’t shove Phichit away as quickly as he did with Victor, but he still reaches out to Christophe with determined eyes.

“Wait, I need to ask him a few-” Victor starts singing along to the song playing over the loudspeakers to cut the man off, working his pants open so it catches around his thighs.

Christophe grabs the clothing before it hits the ground, tugging it back onto Victor’s hips while he wrangles Phichit underneath his arm.

“Okay pornstar, time to let your new roommate deal with you,” Christophe says, while Phichit starts to giggle and laugh at the word ‘pornstar’. Victor just sticks his face into the crook of Christophe’s neck and lets him get dragged away, feeling the intense gaze of the man in the suit on his back and the name ‘Yuuri Katuski’ fading away with the noise of the club.

 

* * *

 

Victor is able to stumble his way up the steps to his front door on his own. Opening the door, however, proved to be too difficult of a task for his not-so-finely-tuned motor skills to handle. After blindly stabbing his key and missing the doorknob for the third time in a row, the door opens to reveal Yuuri and Makkachin on the other side. 

The glow of the television in the dark lightens Yuuri’s face covered up by a baby blue medical mask. Victor swallows his spit and smiles, feeling his knees buckle and give. Gravity and Pale Ale takes over for Victor, and he falls through the doorway with his arms open wide.

Yuuri catches Victor before he hits the floor – sort of. It’s more like Victor falling onto the floor with Yuuri as a convenient cushion to break the fall. Makkachin starts barking and Yuuri groans from underneath Victor. Victor breaks out into laughter and rolls off Yuuri onto his back, laughing at the ceiling and the flicker of the lights from the television.

“Victor?” Yuuri asks once he’s closed and locked the front door. He gets to his knees beside Victor, taking in how Victor’s shirt is open and his pants are barely on his hips. “Did you – I – did something happen? Are you-”

“I’m _fiiiine_ , solnyshko~” Victor purrs, sloppily pushing himself up to a sitting position. Victor snorts and wraps his arms around Yuuri’s shoulders, pulling him in close so he can smash his forehead up against Yuuri’s. Yuuri winces from the impact and Victor hums. “You don’t have a fever, that’s good. Makka – hic – Makka took _good_ care of you,” Victor slurs and licks his drying lips.

“You smell horrible,” Yuuri groans, turning his head away as Victor presses his mouth into the nape of Yuuri’s neck.

“Nuh-uh. I smell like. . .like sunshine,” Victor mouths against Yuuri’s skin, and then blows a raspberry. Victor laughs. “Sunshine! _You are my sunshine! My only sunshine!_ ”

“Victor, please get off me,” Yuuri pleads, pushing Victor away so he flops back onto the hardwood floor. Yuuri gets to his feet, adjusting his face mask that’s on the crooked side, and swings one foot over Victor’s hip to stand above him. He bends down and grabs Victor’s hands, pulling him back up into a sitting position.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” Yuuri quietly ushers and Victor hums. He squeezes Yuuri’s hands, and wonders if they’ve always been this soft and smooth and the perfect size for Victor’s hands.

“Let’s sleep together!” Victor blurts out with a smile.

“No.”

“But _Yuuuuuuuuurrrriiiiiiiii_ , let’s – hic – let’s have a _slumber party!_ Have you had a slumber party before? We – we’ll watch movies~ and pop some popcorn~ and we’ll have a pillow fight~ and talk about _boyssss_ ,” Victor whines.

Yuuri manages to get him to his knees and Victor is now nuzzling into Yuuri’s stomach and around his hips where’s there’s softness. His hands latch around the brim of Yuuri’s sweatpants, tucking his fingers inside so the tips brush against the band of Yuuri’s underwear.

At that, Yuuri pushes Victor away and Victor falls back down onto the floor. Victor groans and pushes himself to his elbows, vision blurring and smudging the lines and colors together.

When he gets his eyes to focus, he sees Yuuri standing away from him with arms wrapped around himself and eyes looking concerned. Victor rubs his face and shakes his head.

“No. No, don’t look like that,” Victor says into his palm.

“H-How. . .I – I don’t feel. . .you’re drunk and –” Yuuri can’t get the words out. He takes a tentative step backwards, bumping against the wall.

“. . .You’re scared?” Victor murmurs.

There’s a gasp of air that Victor knows didn’t come from him or the television playing low in the background. Yuuri’s eyes flicker to his bare toes, before answering Victor’s question with an unsure glimmer of his eyes. Victor shakes his head from side-to-side, hard enough for a dull throb to build behind his eyes.

“No – I – I don't want you scared of me. I want you – hic – I _want you_ – I want you to talk to me. I just want to talk to you. I want to hear your voice and know everything about you because – hic – because _wow_ ,” Victor gasps, leaning back on his palms to just take Yuuri in. “You’re – you’re so _beautiful_ ‘Just Yuuri’. You’re the. . .you’re the _beautifulest, nicest, most smarterest roommate ever_.”

Victor pats the floor and flops himself onto his belly, before he struggles to get on all fours and crawls towards the couch. “I-I’m gonna sleep _right here_ , okay? So, you don’t have to worry about me. You just get your beautiful sleep cause _wow_. _Wow_ ,” Victor says and looks to Makkachin, as if to ask the poodle ‘like, do _you_ see how gorgeous ‘Just Yuuri’ is???’.

Victor plants his face into one of the couch’s small decorative pillows, breathing in deep and exhaling out the scent of booze. His eyelids are heavy with sleep, and his limbs feel heavier as his body sinks into the cushion of the couch.

The noises of the television paint a pretty picture of sounds that don’t match the visions that pop up in Victor’s heads, all symphonies of chimes and jingles that dissolve and swell to become Yuuri’s laughter. Yuuri’s laugh is so nice. It’s so warm. It’s so beautiful. Yuuri is so _beautiful_.

There’s a warm that drapes over him and smells like fresh linen, a touch that smooths from his sweating forehead and pushes his damp hair back, fleeting and quick.

Victor falls asleep to an echo of Yuuri’s laugh that only exists in his head, and a smile on his lips.

 

* * *

 

“I’m dying. I’m dying. I’m dead.” 

Yuuri ignores Victor’s whines and opens the curtains in the living room bright and early in the morning. The sunlight hits Victor square in his face as it fills the room, blinding and warm and _not_ what Victor wants to face when he’s hungover and half draped over the arm of his couch.

Yuuri pads around the couch with Makkachin trailing at his heels. He reappears at Victor’s side after – in Victor’s hungover opinion – noisily going through the medicine cabinet down the hall and the cupboards and fridge. In his hands is a tall cup of what smells like pickle juice. Victor turns over on the couch, trying to block the sun out with one of his hands.

“Chris called earlier. He – um – he said that this is what you usually have?” Yuuri whispers, like he’s afraid Victor will shatter if he raises his voice any higher.

Victor grunts, rubs his eyes, and grabs the cup to take a quick swig of the liquid down his dry throat.

Yuuri winces at the sight as Victor lowers the cup down for Makkachin to sniff at. “Does. . .does that actually help?”

Victor rubs his face. “My uncle used to do the same thing. I don’t know, it works for me. Plus, I like pickles so. . .” Victor takes another drink and hums, giving a little smile to Yuuri. “Thank you, my darling roommate.”

Yuuri sits down on the floor, allowing Makkachin to lay across his crossed legs.

“How are you feeling?” Yuuri asks and Victor sighs through his nose.

“Terrible. Awful. A little bit hungry, but at the same time, I feel like I want to throw up. It’s alright, I’ve gotten over hangovers before,” Victor says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re a cool guy, Yuuri. Cool guys don’t get wasted like I do. Don’t be like me.”

“You’re rambling again,” Yuuri murmurs. Victor hums.

He drags his hand over his face again and rests it over his chest, looking at Yuuri with tired eyes.

“Did I do anything last night you’ll want to blackmail me with?” Victor asks. Yuuri instantly tints pink at his words, and Victor winces. “How bad?”

“Um. . .you. . .you grabbed me and. . .I know you were drunk but it just startled me a bit,” Yuuri whispers. Victor groans, moving to prop himself up into a sitting position on the couch.

“I’m sorry. I’m _really_ sorry-”

“No, n-no it’s okay-”

“No, it’s not. You’ve never seen me drunk, you don’t know what to expect and I freaked you out. Christophe is used to me being a hot mess, but not you,” Victor states. Yuuri looks down at Makkachin in his lap, gently moving his hand through his curly fur.

“We’ve been living together for a while now. . .I’m not as nervous around you like before,” Yuuri says, heartfelt and smiling behind his glasses with his eyes. Victor swallows, then takes another sip of pickle juice.

“. . .Well. . .that’s good. . .I don’t want you to be nervous around me so. . .I’m glad,” Victor says with a smile of his own.

Yuuri nods his head. “Yeah, you said something like that last night too. Along with a bunch of other silly things,” Yuuri says with a little chuckle.

A nervous, brine-smelling burp rises out of Victor’s throat. He starts to cough and holds his mouth, waiting for a few minutes to make sure he wasn’t going to vomit, before he smooths back his hair.

“Um, silly things like what?” Victor asks. Yuuri is still lazily petting a hand through Makkachin’s fur.

“Stuff like. . .you calling me smart and nice and beautiful. . .you used the word ‘beautifulest’ which isn’t a real word so. . .you know, just silly things like that,” Yuuri says with a shrug of his shoulders. Something like a relieved sigh leaves Victor’s lips, and he slumps back into a lying position on the couch.

“But I do think you’re smart and nice and beautiful,” Victor admits. That gets Yuuri’s eyes to focus back on Victor’s face, and Victor suddenly feels warm again. He keeps his eyes locked with Yuuri’s, trying to search for the words to answer the question in Yuuri’s eyes.

“I. . .you don’t. . .you’ve never seen my face,” Yuuri says, bringing one hand to his scarf.

“. . .I don’t have to. I just. . .know. Like how Makkachin knows when the delivery boy is walking up the steps with our food delivery and runs to the door to see, I just _know_ that you’re gorgeous,” Victor says with a little bit of a rasp in his voice.

Yuuri’s eyes swell with hurt and shame, and Victor grows confused. Did he say something wrong? He thought it was a compliment to call someone gorgeous.

“. . .What do you think I look like? What makes you think I’m gorgeous?” Yuuri is so quiet; there’s a vulnerable tremble in his voice that hurts deep in Victor’s chest.

Victor clutches the pillow he’s currently resting on. “Well. . .your eyes. I’ve told you before how much I love your eyes. The way you laugh and they sparkle just. . .I don’t know. Plus, I think you’re gorgeous when we clean up around the house and you sing really quiet to yourself because you don’t want me to hear, but it sounds really nice, like a lullaby. And when you get those few sparks of confidence and look me straight in the eye when we’re talking about music or playing games, and I see so much _passion_ burning in you through your eyes I. . .I just – I really like it. I think it’s beautiful,” Victor admits, feeling his face growing warm as a smile slides onto his face.

“And, I admit that the rest of your face is something I’ve never seen, but I just know that whatever is underneath, I’m going to think it’s beautiful. . .do people say you have a beautiful smile? I bet twenty bucks that your smile is beautiful.”

Yuuri just stares at Victor, silent and still.

Then, he brings a hand to his scarf and sticks his finger into a loose fold.

Yuuri is very careful and pulls the scarf around on his face, but Victor realizes that he’s careful not to reveal anything surrounding his nose. A few tentative seconds later, and Yuuri is holding the scarf and covering his nose with one hand, while the other hand pulls the scarf down to reveal soft pink lips wracked with anxiety.

All Victor can say is ‘ _wow_ ’.

He watches as the lower lip gets pulled between pearly white and straight teeth, sucked into the mouth, and then a pink tongue runs out to wet the lower lip once more. Yuuri swallows as Victor scoots in closer and sticks his face _closer_.

Victor raises his hand, without thinking, and presses the pad of his thumb against the exposed bottom lip.

He breathes out another ‘wow’.

It’s soft and warm and a little bit chapped, but Victor can’t help but be amazed by these lips. He finds himself licking his own lips and feels Yuuri’s mouth tremble against his thumb when he does so. He feels Yuuri’s warm breath against his thumb, smelling the cool wintermint toothpaste on Yuuri’s tongue. Victor hums. Yuuri’s tongue. His lips. His mouth and his teeth. Victor. . .Victor likes Yuuri’s mouth.

“. . .Wow,” Victor whispers.

“. . .Is that all you can say?” Seeing those lips move and hearing Yuuri’s voice come out past them strikes through Victor’s body like lightning.

“ _Wow_ ,” Victor breathes again like a broken record.

“Did that pickle juice turn a few screws loose?” And there it is.

A smile that quirks upwards in one corner, with a laugh that is breathy and light and swells Victor’s throat so much that he feels like he’s drowning.

He is.

He’s sinking and his head aches from the glow of the sun illuminating Yuuri’s face. It makes his smile seem shinier, more dream felt and golden and untouchable. It tickles Victor’s throat and there’s not another thought that can process in the numbing lump of pink matter that Victor Nikiforov calls a brain other than the word ‘ _wow_ ’. Because _wow_ , Yuuri is beautiful. This smile is _beautiful_.

Yuuri lets Victor revel in his lips for a couple more seconds, before he pushes Victor’s hand down and away from his face so he can cover back up.

“I’ll make breakfast. Just get some rest, okay?” Yuuri says. Victor gets a stupid nod of his head, staring at the spot now covered back up with a scarf. Yuuri’s lips are underneath there. Yuuri’s beautiful smile is underneath there. When Yuuri’s eyes sparkle, Victor has a smile to put along with it.

He mumbles out one last ‘wow’ that is a little bit dreamy, a little bit sleepy and a little bit dripping with desire, before he rests back into the cushion of the couch and lets his eyes fall closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so. much. dialogue OTL


	4. Chapter 4

“Ugh, I was such an asshole,” Phichit groans into the counter. Beside him, Mila looks down and mumbles ‘I just wiped that area’. Phichit groans louder.

Victor laughs to himself, milkshake in one hand and his other holding Yuuri’s as the man sips from his own milkshake with a long straw slipping through the folds of his fabric. It’s not too busy in the ice cream shop currently; there’s a family of four sitting around the table near an open window, and a few couples scattered around the small place enjoying an ice cream together.

“Did you even get a number from him?” Victor asks and Phichit huffs.

“I don’t remember. I’m sure that I gave him _my_ number, but I’m not sure. I was so wasted; I don’t even remember if he was cute or not. Just that his eyebrows were _perfect_ and that he was a lawyer,” Phichit says, sitting up from his slouch over the counter. “Was I really bad?” he asks.

Victor hums. “Well, from what I vaguely remember, you called Yuuri ‘Sia’ and you made out with the lawyer guy-”

“Chris told me you made out with him too!” Phichit accuses. Victor feels Yuuri’s hand twitch in his grip; out of the corner of his eye he sees Yuuri’s eyes cast downwards in thought.

Phichit sighs and gives a pout. “Well, I might as well just chalk this one up as an unfortunate drunk story to tell at Chris’s wedding reception when he and his boyfriend inevitably get married,” Phichit says with a shrug of his shoulders.

He then pauses, looking to Yuuri and Victor’s faces, then down at their interlocked hands and smile. “Or maybe I should wait until _your_ wedding reception,” Phichit jokes with a cheeky grin.

Yuuri pulls his hand free from Victor’s as soon as the words leave Phichit’s mouth. Phichit’s smile falls from his face and Mila winces as Yuuri slips his free hand into the pocket of his windbreaker. Victor tries to not let the sudden lack of contact affect him, but the smile that pushes itself onto his lips is empty of any emotion.

“Ah, we’re just friends,” Victor says, cut dry, like he’s said the phrase one too many times and it’s starting to sound less authentic with each reprise.

“. . .Oh. . .right. . .” Phichit says, biting his lower lip. He turns to Yuuri. “Sorry for assuming-”

“It’s okay,” Yuuri whispers, looking to meet Phichit’s eyes. “I’m not mad you thought we were together like that. . .I do think of him as more than a friend, but it’s just a little bit complicated.”

Victor looks at Yuuri, heated surprised washing over his face. Mila ‘oooh’s and Phichit immediately brightens, eyes sparkling like he’s already planning the wedding and what kind of cake should be at the reception.

Yuuri hums, looking at Victor expectantly. “We should get back home to Makkachin,” Yuuri says, already walking to the door. Victor blinks, then quickly ushers his goodbyes to Mila and Phichit before he rushes after Yuuri heading out to the sidewalk and to Victor’s car parked on the curb. Victor unlocks the door and heads around the side to climb into the driver’s seat while Yuuri gets comfortable in the passenger’s seat.

Victor doesn’t start the engine just yet. He places his milkshake down in the cup holder and looks to Yuuri with confused eyebrows.

“So I’m more than a friend?” Victor asks, hands drumming over the top of the steering wheel.

Yuuri pulls the straw from out of the folds of his scarf, adjusting the fabric around his face.

“Yeah.”

Victor stares. “So. . .so what am I to you? Like. . .like a father figure?”

Yuuri laughs. “You’re not _that_ old,” he chastises.

“. . .So like a brother?”

Yuuri hums. “No, not like that either.”

“Do you,” Victor swallows, wondering why does he feel so nervous. Why does he feel so hot underneath his collar? Why does his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly feel so sweaty? This isn’t him. This isn’t him at all. Yet, Yuuri just has to give him that look with those eyes, and Victor is putty in his hands with words messily falling without purpose from his lips.

“Do you. . .do you see me like a lover?”

Yuuri stares, eyes widening with shock. He violently shakes his head ‘no’, holding his scarf tight to his face so it doesn’t slip down from the hard movements. Victor doesn’t know why he feels disappointment crashing against his body like a wave.

“I – I don’t want you as a lover. I – I just want you as ‘Victor’,” Yuuri stammers out. “It’s. . .it’s complicated what I. . .what I feel about you. It’s more than friends, I know it is. But. . .but I wouldn’t dream of putting you through the pain of having to call me your ‘lover’.”

“. . .Why would it be painful for me to have you as my lover?” Victor quietly asks. He knows that what he feels for Yuuri may be just as complicated and hard to explain. He knows that they’ve passed the threshold of being more than friends, being more than just ‘roommates’, but not having a word to put to their relationship. It certainly isn’t lovers, but maybe it’s just on the cusp of becoming lovers. Maybe.

Victor turns on the air conditioning, thinking the summer heat is starting to fry his brain.

“. . .Trust me. You don’t want me as a lover,” Yuuri murmurs. “. . .No one would.”

With that, Yuuri looks out the passenger window, and the conversation is over before Victor can even get it started.

 

* * *

 

Victor rings up a newspaper for an elderly gentleman one Tuesday. In the bottom right corner of the front page is a small column marked ‘ **KATSUKI HEIR MISSING** ’ with a small picture of an anonymous silhouette beside it. 

He doesn’t have time to read it, since the man drops exact change on the counter and there’s already a morning line building behind him. Victor relinquishes the newspaper as he takes the money and charges the man, prints out the receipt, and throws the money in the register with a generic smile and a ‘thank you, come again!’.

Victor is only able to get a newspaper in his hands when Christophe comes to take him off for break, quickly scanning through the column, not sure what exactly he’s looking for.

The Katsuki Family – the kind of family with centuries worth of inheritance and people Victor imagines burning money to keep themselves warm – has placed an announcement addressed directly to their son, Yuuri, to return home so they can discuss their differences, and promises that _this time_ will be different.

Victor has no idea what the hell it means.

He also doesn’t understand why there isn’t a picture of this Yuuri. If it’s their son, they _should_ have a photo put out there in the off chance that someone might have seen them and could help them reunite. This entire thing is. . .odd. . .

Yuuri Katsuki.

It can’t be the same person.

. . .But Victor did already conclude that his Yuuri must be rich. Being the son of such a prestigious family as the Katsukis will fall in line with his theory. Along with the hint that the relationship between Yuuri and his parents is on the rocks.

Still, Victor doesn’t understand what the message means by ‘this time’. That, and he doesn’t understand how that lawyer at the club knew Yuuri wears something that covers his face and that Yuuri Katsuki has the face of a pig.

He’s seen Yuuri’s mouth. He’s seen Yuuri’s eyes. He doesn’t have a pig face. Pigs have. . .snouts.

. . .He’s never seen Yuuri’s nose.

. . .No, no that’s ridiculous.

It must be just a rude insult. It doesn’t have anything to do with his Yuuri. He knows his Yuuri is beautiful. He knows that his Yuuri isn’t this missing heir with an apparent pig face.

. . .When did he start calling Yuuri _his????_

“Hey,” Christophe’s voice sounds from behind him. Victor whirs around fast, tossing the newspaper back onto the shelf with all the others. Christophe raises an eyebrow at Victor, before he braces his hand on his hip and decides to just ignore the weird behavior.

“I’m thinking about karaoke on Friday. You in?” Christophe asks. Karaoke is usually an event for initiating people into their friendship circle. He still remembers Phichit and Sara’s obnoxiously pitched cover of “Loving You” as well as Otabek’s surprisingly good rendition of “Thunderstruck”.

“Your boyfriend?” Victor asks, and Christophe smiles.

“He likes to sing in the shower, so I just want everyone to hear how talented my boyfriend is. . .you know, if ‘Just Yuuri’ wants to come, it might be a way to get him out of his shell,” Christophe suggests.

Victor gives a side glance at the newspaper he tossed off to the side, before he looks back at Christophe and gives a nod of his head.

“Yeah. I’ll. . .I’ll ask him.”

“. . .What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Victor,” Christophe’s voice drawls, crossing his arms and raising his eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”

Victor places on a smile. Of course, because Christophe knows him so well, it doesn’t hide that there’s a swirl of thoughts and questions currently flying through Victor’s head at speeds of a hurricane.

“It’s nothing. Really, Chris. I’m just. . .thinking about Yuuri,” Victor says. It’s not a total lie. It’s just a carefully-worded half-truth. Christophe takes the answer as is, smiling and giving a gentle scoff.

“You really have it bad for him. This isn’t like you. What happened to the Victor Nikiforov that when he’s interested in something, he pursues it relentlessly?” Christophe asks. Victor chuckles, scratching his cheek.

“We’re just-”

“Friends. That’s what you say, but your eyes and your face whenever you think about him says you want to be more,” Christophe points out.

Victor bites the inside of his cheek, pauses, then, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Christophe rolls his eyes.

 

* * *

 

“Karaoke?” Yuuri asks, taking another dish from the dishwasher to hand to Victor. 

Victor nods. “We all sit in a sweaty booth and sing along to words that get projected onto the TV screen. Friday nights are usually music from the eighties, but they have rock and pop and top 40 songs too,” Victor explains.

Yuuri hums, turning around a dish between his hands.

“I. . .I don’t think I’ll be a good singer,” Yuuri quietly admits.

“Trust me, you won’t be the only bad singer,” Victor chuckles. “On a good night, Chris _sometimes_ carries a tune. But most of the time, we just spend the night screaming into the mic trying to make everyone’s ears bleed.”

Yuuri laughs, the sound mixing in nice with Victor’s laugh that chases after it.

“You don’t have to sing if you want. They also got stuff like tambourines and noise makers so you can be backing instrumental to the person that’s singing. Plus, they serve drinks and we can ask for straws,” Victor says.

He turns to Yuuri and takes the dish out of Yuuri’s hands to set on the counter, before he takes the other man’s hands into his own and rubs his thumb over Yuuri’s knuckles.

“But it’s all up to you if you want to go,” Victor murmurs. Yuuri looks down at his hands in Victor’s grasp, humming low in his throat. His hands turn, twining their fingers together ever so gently and thoughtful.

“. . .It sounds like it will be fun. . .” Yuuri says, admiring the way how his fingers fit in the spaces between Victor’s. Victor says nothing and allows this moment to pass for as long as Yuuri desires to touch him. He strokes his thumb over Yuuri’s, listens to the soft breath and watches the flutter of Yuuri’s medical mask with each rise and fall of his chest.

Makkachin’s barking is what snaps both out of their haze and makes hands fly back to rest at their sides. Victor turns around and sees Makkachin holding his food bowl, with his tail wagging and ‘I beg pardon, I don’t mean to interrupt the sexual tension, but I _am_ quite famished from chasing that squirrel when we went out on our afternoon walk and require nourishment’ eyes. 

Victor sighs and smiles, reaching down to take the food bowl from his dog’s mouth. “Right, right. I’m on it,” Victor says, ruffling Makkachin’s fur with his hand. When he turns, Yuuri has his back facing towards him, a shade of red creeping down his exposed neck.

Victor doesn’t say anything else about it, sure that there’s a similar hue moving down his neck as well.

 

* * *

 

Phichit greets them at karaoke with hugs. Actually, almost _everyone_ greets Yuuri with a hug. Even Otabek, still as stoic as ever, wraps arms around Yuuri’s frame and pulls him into the chest of his leather jacket for a tight squeeze. 

The only person that doesn’t hug Yuuri is Christophe’s boyfriend – because he doesn’t know who he is and opts for a polite handshake – and Yuri – who is too embarrassed to admit that he was _kinda_ an asshole last time. The blond greets Yuuri with a grunt and an offer to sit next to him in the karaoke booth, cheeks red and not meeting Yuuri’s eyes. Yuuri politely takes him up on the offer, with Victor sitting right next to him.

“Okay! So, who wants to go first?” Phichit says, wagging the microphone in the direction of Christophe’s boyfriend, like there is an option for someone _else_ to take the microphone and go.

But there is.

Yuuri’s hand raises into the air, not proudly but still noticeable. His face is turned down to his knees and his other hand is fisted into the front of his shirt.

There’s a bit of silence around the booth, before Mila is the first to break it with a happy clap of her hands and a ‘yay, Yuuri!’ that gets echoed by Sara, and then Christophe, and then Phichit. Yuuri just grows redder, the hand still held in the air beginning to tremble.

“Oooh, should it be a duet?” Sara suggests and Christophe whistles low, throwing Victor an unnecessary wink. Victor smirks at him, the smug bastard, and gives a shrug of his shoulders.

“I don’t mind,” he says with a smile, looking over at Yuuri who has finally lowered his hand. “How about you?”

“. . .Um. . .yeah. . .it’s fine. . .” Yuuri says.

“Ugh, I didn’t come along just to listen to everyone sing a bunch of sappy love songs,” Yuri spits. Mila laughs, pushing the iPad with karaoke of karaoke songs towards Yuuri so he can view.

“We’ll get to ‘Angsty 90s Songs’ soon, Yura,” she says with a handwave. Yuri clicks his tongue again, being the bigger person for a change and not acknowledging Mila’s dig with a response. Yuuri flips through the screens slowly, reading over the song selections and titles.

“Um. . .which song do you like?” Yuuri whispers low to Victor. Victor leans in to look as well, an arm going around Yuuri’s shoulders.

“You can’t ever go wrong with ABBA. Queen is good too. Then there’s the eighties selection –” Victor taps the box marked ‘ **DAILY SPECIAL** ’ and the screen fills with brightly colored shapes and the song listing for tunes from the eighties. He smiles as he taps one of the songs.

“This is a favorite all around,” Victor says. Yuuri hums, stares at the song, then furrows his eyebrows. Victor waits a second, then smiles. “You’ve never-”

“No. I don’t know this song,” Yuuri admits. Victor chuckles, typing in the code next to the name of the title and taps the play button. The television on the wall in front of them flashes white and begins to countdown backwards from five. Once it strikes one, a familiar bass rift begins to fill the booth and echo against the wall.

Phichit and Mila give a loud groan, but they’re smiling big and are reaching for the tambourines and spare microphones. 

“Now we _all_ have to sing this song!” Mila says, like it’s such an inconvenience as she’s already getting to her feet and pulling Sara to stand on the small dancefloor with her. Yuri rolls his eyes and slumps in his booth, accepting the tambourine from Otabek. Victor laughs, watching as Yuuri also gets passed a tambourine and gives it a few test hits to his knees.

Phichit is streaming live to Facebook as he dims the lights and switches them to disco setting so bright lights spark and flash over the walls as Mila and Sara get ready to yell the first verse into the microphone.

“ ** _Tommy used to work on the docks! Union’s been on strike, he’s down on his luck! It’s toooouuuuuugggghhhh~ so tough_** ,” Mila and Sara badly harmonize. Mila has already sunk to her knees with her fist raised in the air and Phichit is already screaming in the corner.

Otabek – in the chaos – is managing to shake the tambourine to the beat of the song. Yuuri is adorably confused and fascinated, the sparkle of his eyes and the disco lights ghosting off his face in quick flashes already drawing Victor’s attention till that is all he can focus on.

It already gets to inane levels of loudness before they even reach the first chorus. Mila and Sara have taken over this song and hold out their microphones to the crowd on the bench to scream along with them.

It’s noisy and it’s a crazy mess that hurts Victor’s ears, but he _loves it_. Watching Yuuri’s first time at karaoke, and his nervous yet excited attempt to sing along to the chorus when the microphone gets shoved in his face, makes Victor love it even more.

They go through a couple of songs but never come back around to Yuuri and Victor’s promised duet. Food gets ordered that Yuuri can’t eat, but he makes do with the cocktail drinks Victor orders for him and handful of straws that gets delivered.

All the while, Yuuri comments on all the drinks on the menu that he’s never tried before, and laughs and plays the tambourine to everyone singing and dancing and making a general fool of themselves.

It’s strange when Victor thinks about it. He’s been through so many firsts with Yuuri and he still doesn’t know much about Yuuri’s past. Yet at the same time, Victor doesn’t care. Victor has always believed that the past is far behind them and there’s no need to dwell on it when the present is here and tomorrow is still coming.

He wants to keep creating firsts with Yuuri. He wants to keep seeing Yuuri’s eyes spark up with light and cheeks fill with rose as Victor watches someone he cares about enjoy the things that Victor treats as common pleasures.

He wants to keep hearing Yuuri’s laughter. He wants to keep hearing Yuuri’s voice and he wants to see his smile. He wants to see _all_ of Yuuri and know every inch of his body, all the curves and dips and lines that shape Yuuri into a work of art that is as beautiful as he is kind.

He wants. . .

He wants. . .

Victor blanks out in the middle of singing backing vocal to “Dancing Queen”, everyone else too caught up in Phichit belting out the chorus with a microphone in one hand and his phone in the other. Something shifts against Victor and he looks to see Yuuri resting against him, pressed firm and snug in Victor’s side. Victor’s arm is around him, and Yuuri’s skin is flushed a pretty pink hue that Victor can see in the dark.

“What’s wrong?” Yuuri asks, blinking up at him. He smells of mojitos and hard apple cider; the scent underneath the familiar smell of peppermint and coconut shampoo, and a scent that is ‘just Yuuri’. Yuuri doesn’t wait for an answer from Victor, since he drops his head back against Victor’s chest and breathes in deeply.

“. . .You okay?” Victor asks.

“Just. . .just feeling a little bit warm,” Yuuri murmurs. Victor places a hand to his forehead, smoothing back Yuuri’s bangs. He’s sweating, but it’s not a fever. It must be the alcohol burning through his skin. Victor guides his hand down to Yuuri’s neck where it brushes against his scarf. The bundle of fabric around Yuuri’s face is loose and drenched with sweat as well.

“You might have to take this off,” Victor tries to say as quietly as possible. Yuuri’s hands go up to his face and he rapidly shakes his head ‘no’. Victor frowns. “Solnyshko, you’re overheating and-”

“No, no. It’s fine. I’m feeling better. I don’t need to take it off,” Yuuri rattles, shaking his tambourine off beat as if that will prove he is in tip top shape and not sweating and burning up underneath the heavy fabric. Victor sighs, pushing away Yuuri’s alcoholic drinks and pulling forward a glass of water.

“Drink some of this for now, okay?” Victor asks. Yuuri gives an accepting nod, then rests his head back where it was snuggled against Victor’s right pec. Victor feels his mouth go dry, and once he sees Yuuri’s eyes drift closed for a second, he reaches to grab Yuuri’s drink to finish it down his throat.

Across the table, Christophe is giving him a little knowing smile while his boyfriend rattles the tambourine and Phichit falls out on the floor and screams till his voice cracks pitch. Victor ignores him, and relaxes into the soft cushion of the couch and into the body heat of Yuuri nestled against him.

 

* * *

 

“We didn’t. . .we didn’t get to do our duet,” Yuuri murmurs as Victor helps him up the steps to the apartment. Victor chuckles. 

“You did a lot of duets with Phichit. Are you going to run off to be his roommate?” Victor teases. Yuuri looks up at him, eyes big and shiny and serious.

“D-Do you want me to-”

“No,” Victor quickly answers. Yuuri exhales and hiccups, then giggles and lets Victor handle more of his weight. Victor’s partially surprised that Yuuri is only _somewhat_ drunk; usually the only person that can outdrink Sara is Emil, but Yuuri might give him a run for his money.

His scarf is loose around his face and he’s warm and boozy underneath Victor’s arm, stuttering with his feet as they make their way to the front door.

“We’ll have a duet some other time. They have lots of special nights where they offer discounts on food and drinks,” Victor says. Yuuri hiccups again and hums, nuzzling the side of his head into Victor’s shoulder as he holds his scarf to his face.

“Mari. . .Mari would have laughed so much at me singing with Phichit,” Yuuri snorts.

“Mari?”

“My sister,” Yuuri answers with a hiccup. Victor hums. He remembers sometimes Yuuri mentioning that he has an older sister, but like always, he doesn’t talk much about her for Victor to get some idea as to who his family is.

When he thinks back to the article about the Katsukis, he’s sure they mentioned a daughter as part of the family looking for the missing son. He wonders what kind of person is she like, if she’s the type of big sister that teases their younger brothers or is cool and calm, or is just as much of a nervous wreck at times as Yuuri is.

Victor opens the door and Makkachin greets them with a loud bark. Victor closes the door shut with his foot and locks it behind him, allowing Yuuri to move on his own and float through the living room in a tipsy haze. Victor catches him before he trips over his own feet and fall flat on his face, pulling him back against his chest.

“Come on, solnyshko. Let’s get you to your room-”

“No, I’m not drunk,” Yuuri protests, pushing Victor’s hands away. He spins around and leans against Victor. “I. . .I want to dance.”

“Dance?”

“Because I was sick that other time,” Yuuri further explains. His fingers tangle in the side of Victor’s shirt. “I want to dance with you,” Yuuri repeats. Victor smiles, running his hand up and down Yuuri’s arms.

“We _did_ dance at the karaoke bar. Remember? Yura, Mila and Otabek were singing, and you and Christophe pulled me in a three-way dance battle,” Victor chuckles. He’s sure that by now, Phichit already has the pictures and videos up on Facebook and Instagram.

Yuuri shakes his head, reaching up to tighten his scarf around his face. “No. Like. . .” he starts to rock Victor from side to side, his brown eyes hazed over and sleepy. “Like that kind of dance.”

“. . .You want to slow dance?”

Yuuri plants his face into the crook of Victor’s neck as an answer.

Yuuri and Victor sit on the couch, hooking up the speakers to Spotify on Victor’s iPhone and listening to a bunch of slow songs that aren’t quite up to Yuuri’s tastes to slow dance to.

Victor is pretty sure four songs in that Yuuri has already drifted off to sleep, since his head is tucked against the pillow clutched tight in his arms and his shoulders rise and fall with even breaths. Victor doesn’t stir him from sleep just yet, lazily tapping his hand on his thigh to the beat of the music and shuffling through playlists for some music he’s familiar with.

Makkachin climbs up and onto the couch and gets comfortable over Victor’s lap. Victor smiles, slowly rubbing his hand up and down Makkachin’s back as a new song begins with the gentle chime of piano chords.

Yuuri shifts in his spot on the couch, raising his head up from the pillow with his scarf slipping down his face. He holds the fabric tight, rising to his feet.

“This one,” he says, looking down at Victor with flushed cheeks that aren’t from the buzz of alcohol. Victor blinks, feeling Makkachin move as the vocals start to come in play.

 

_Why do birds suddenly appear, every time you are near? Just like me, they long to be, close to you~_

 

“Oh. Okay,” Victor says, rising to his feet and stepping close to Yuuri. He wraps one arm around Yuuri’s waist while he takes Yuuri’s hand. The scarf is loose; Victor catches glimpses of Yuuri’s skin with each nervous flutter of the material. He starts by moving to their left around the coffee table, and Yuuri follows in stride.

Yuuri hums. “I’ve never danced with anyone before,” he admits. Victor smiles, giving Yuuri’s hand a squeeze as he slowly spins Yuuri around and crosses back towards the couch.

“How am I doing? Okay?”

“. . .Yeah. You’re okay,” Yuuri says. Victor laughs, allowing Yuuri to take the lead as he guides them around the coffee table and glides in front of the television set. Makkachin happily watches from his spot on the couch, panting and tail wagging in approval.

Yuuri rests his head against Victor when they circle around the living room back to the position where they started from, arms going to wrap around Victor’s neck. Victor’s arms go around to hold Yuuri by his waist, gently rocking them from side to side to the gentle melody of the song.

“. . .I like you, Victor,” Yuuri whispers. Victor squeezes Yuuri against him, closing his eyes and letting his nose dip into Yuuri’s soft hair.

“I like you too, ‘Just Yuuri’,” Victor whispers back, voice warm with more than just fondness.

They slowly move from side to side as the music swells, and suddenly a hand slides up to tangle in the back of Victor’s hair and clenches tight. Yuuri stops rocking with Victor’s movements and just stands still in Victor’s hold. His body begins to tremble in Victor’s arms, and it takes a moment before Victor registers that Yuuri is crying. Victor tenses, unwrapping his arms from around Yuuri’s waist.

“Yuuri wha–” Yuuri’s hand tightens in Victor’s hair and he squeezes Victor tighter against him, preventing Victor from pulling away to see his face.

“Don’t – please don't –”

“Solnyshko, what’s wrong? Did I say-”

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri chokes out against Victor’s skin. “I-I’m sorry I lied to you,” Yuuri cries. Victor looks down, raising a hand to gently card through Yuuri’s hair.

“What are you talking about? You never lied to me,” Victor says softly, trying to quell Yuuri’s tears. Yuuri just shakes his head and buries his face against Victor more. His glasses are digging uncomfortably into Victor’s skin, but Victor doesn’t pull away and allows Yuuri to hold him.

“I-I’m sorry. I’ll leave. I’ll leave you alone-”

“Yuuri, _breathe_. You’re not making any-”

Before Victor can get another word out, Yuuri’s hand reaches up and pulls the scarf around his face downwards, and drops the fabric to the floor.

Victor’s eyes follow the garment till it pools around their toes. Then, he looks up and –

A pig’s nose.

A nose of a pig.

_Yuuri has a pig’s nose._

Victor stumbles backwards out of shock and his leg catches the coffee table. He falls to the ground and the music playing softly in the background abruptly gets cut off. Makkachin is standing on all fours, barking and wagging his tail as Victor finally takes all of Yuuri’s face in.

The lawyer from the club’s voice echoes at the back of Victor’s mind, louder and thundering in his ears as he stares at Yuuri’s nose. The face of a pig. How? It’s not even a nose that looks like a pig’s snout, it _is_ a pig’s snout.

Yuuri’s eyes aren’t looking at Victor, but they are filled with shame and hurt. His hands uselessly tremble at his sides and his breathing grows heavier the longer Victor just sits there and _stares_. Makkachin nuzzles his nose into the back of Victor’s head, making Victor jump and startles Yuuri. Makkachin barks again, panting and looking at Yuuri without any change in his demeanor. The dog is smiling at Yuuri like he still gives the best cuddles on the planet.

Victor slowly gets to his feet, looking over Yuuri’s face while Yuuri keeps his eyes to the ground. His shoulders are rising and falling more quickly now, failing miserably to hold everything together as Victor takes cautious steps towards him.

Yuuri’s lips are still soft and gentle, his eyes are still big and round and beautiful. His cheeks are flushed with the same familiar hue that makes Victor feel warm inside time and time again. His dark hair is still soft and fluffy and smells sweet of Victor’s shampoo. It’s still his Yuuri. But at the same time, Victor now knows that this isn’t ‘Just Yuuri’.

This is Yuuri Katsuki.

This is the missing male heir to the Katsuki family.

This is the man that that lawyer in the club said hid away his pig face and he _wasn’t lying_.

A pig’s nose.

This can’t be real.

This can’t be happening.

Victor’s hand raises upwards and slowly inches toward Yuuri’s face, towards that _nose_. Yuuri’s eyes finally lock with Victor’s, and they’re filled with fear and remorse. There’s no gentle swirl or sparkle anywhere in those brown eyes behind Yuuri’s glasses.

Victor sees himself reflected in Yuuri’s eyes, and Victor looks just as startled and bewildered as he feels. His hand inches closer and closer; Victor hears Yuuri’s breathing grow quicker and quicker to the point that he’s starting to hyperventilate.

Victor steps back and brings both his hands to his face.

This. . .this is _insane._

He hears a choked sob and looks up. Tears are falling from Yuuri’s eyes and he’s covering his nose with his hands.

“I’m a _monster_ ,” Yuuri hiccups. Victor’s eyes widen and he quickly reaches out a hand towards Yuuri.

“No, _no_ you’re not-” Yuuri reaches down and scoops up his scarf, bringing the fabric to his face. He turns on his heel and runs out of the living room down the hall, Victor stumbling over his own feet to chase after him.

“Yuuri! Yuuri, wait!” Victor shouts. Yuuri ignores him and runs right into his bedroom, slamming the door shut in Victor’s face. When Victor places his hand on the doorknob and twists it, he finds that Yuuri has locked it this time around.

Victor braces his hands against the door and hangs his head. He looks down when he hears Makkachin padding over to sit down at his side, staring up at him with shiny black eyes.

Victor sighs to himself, sinking down to the floor. “Yuuri? Solnyshko, please-”

“You just. . .you just _stood there_ ,” Yuuri’s voice croaks out from behind the door, a warble of hurt and confusion.

“. . .What was I supposed to do?” Victor asks, crooking a smile even though Yuuri can’t see it. “Kiss you?”

“ _No_.”

Okay, now is not the time to make jokes.

“Yuuri, you just. . .you just caught me by surprise,” Victor says. He’s still in a state of shock if he’s being perfectly honest with himself, like all of this is just some weird alcohol-induced dream, and Yuuri’s nose is as cute and round like Victor imagines it to be instead of being. . .well a _pig’s snout_.

“You think I’m repulsive,” Yuuri accuses and Victor frowns.

“No, no I _don’t_. Yuuri, I’ve known you for almost five months and I’ve _yet_ to find anything about you I think is gross. You’re. . .you’re _perfect_. You never leave your laundry around, you don’t leave the bathroom a mess – well, you leave food bits on the plates in the sink sometimes and that peeves me off, but not to the point that I think you’re _repulsive_ ,” Victor rambles.

He bites his lower lip and slips his fingers underneath the small space under the door, trying to feel around stupidly to see if Yuuri is anywhere close by. The lock comes off the door and the door opens without any warning. Victor barely has time to snatch his hand back from underneath without getting it caught, and he is met with Yuuri’s face and the pig snout that is _definitely_ real.

“Please, don’t lie to me to make me feel better,” Yuuri’s voice shakes out of his throat. Victor gets to his knees, running his tongue over his lip.

“Yuuri, I _swear_ I’m telling you the truth. You’re not a monster. You’re not repulsive. You’re. . .you’re still you,” Victor says. He looks at Yuuri’s eyes rimmed red from crying and the piggy nose that is blotchy and red. Yuuri takes in a sharp breath and averts his eyes, but Victor’s hands move on their own and raise his face back up to look at Victor.

His skin is so soft.

It’s so warm and Victor marvels at how Yuuri’s cheeks feel against his palm. It’s smooth as silk with no blemishes or imperfections; a smooth outline of his jaw and soft cheeks plump with baby fat.

Victor strokes his thumb over where pink starts to blossom at his touch, running the tip of his finger over dried tear trails. He guides his hand upwards to press his thumb just at the corner of Yuuri’s eye, and listens to Yuuri’s breath in slow and deep.

“Yeah. . .you’re still you,” Victor mumbles moreso to himself than to Yuuri, his left hand going down to hold Yuuri by his neck. Yuuri raises a hand to hold Victor’s wrist. His touch is timid, like Victor will disappear any second and he’s trying so hard not to cling on too tight.

“You. . .no one’s stayed before.” Yuuri’s voice strains against his throat. It seems like this is as much of a dream to him as it is to Victor. Victor hums, admiring Yuuri’s neck and how it flushes with color that goes down beneath his collar where Victor can’t see.

“Why would I leave you?” Victor asks.

“. . .Because no one. . .because no one can stand to look at me,” Yuuri shudders out and hisses in more air through his teeth as he tries to calm himself from breaking down in front of Victor again. Victor’s hand goes down Yuuri’s arm to his hand lying limp at his side.

He twines their fingers together. It takes a moment, but Yuuri squeezes Victor’s hand back.

Victor smiles and cradles Yuuri’s face with his other hand. “Well, I don’t mind looking at you,” Victor says and glances over at Makkachin. “And Makkachin doesn’t mind either, huh boy?”

Makkachin barks and innocently pushes his way into Yuuri’s arms to cuddle with him, getting in the way of Victor touching Yuuri. Yuuri smiles and laughs, wrapping arms around the poodle to hug him and accept a few sloppy kisses to his cheek.

Victor lets it slide, resting back on his hands and watches Yuuri take in a few deep breaths and turn his gaze upon Victor.

“So. . .now you know,” Yuuri says with a sigh.

“. . .Well, I don’t know _everything_. How did – how do you have –” Victor clamps his mouth shut. This is all just too _bizarre_. He’s still wondering if Yuuri will pull the nose off to reveal its fake, with Mila and Phichit jumping out from around the corner with cell phones raised and fingers pointing at how stupid Victor looks right now.

“It’s a long story,” Yuuri warns. There’s a gentle tone to his voice and how he breathes out his sigh. Like Victor can still back-out now if he wants. Like Victor can kick him out and he’ll never have to look at his face again. Like Victor is still the one with all the power and Yuuri is nothing.

Victor scoots in closer to Yuuri, knees touching. “I like hearing you talk,” Victor whispers like it’s a personal secret. Yuuri’s eyes sparkle, they _smile_.

Yuuri gives a sigh and his shoulders relax. “Okay. . .I’ll tell you everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the first song Mila and Sara (and everyone else pretty much) sing to is "Living on a Prayer" by Bon Jovi
> 
> Yuuri and Victor dance to "(They Long to Be) Close to You" by the Carpenters
> 
> this is a short chapter that acts as a transition from roommate plot line to penelope plot line. not that we're not getting anymore cute roommate fluff, but now more penelope elements are going to work their way into the fic hahahah


	5. Chapter 5

Yuuri Katsuki was born into the good life. 

The Katsuki family has surrounded themselves with only the finest pleasures that money could buy. His ancestors rubbed elbows with royal members of Japan’s imperial family; blue coursed through their veins and the family’s descendants for years and years to come. They were the elite; anyone lucky enough to merely _breathe_ in their direction would be blessed with status and wealth.

But the Katsuki’s had a similarity to most common families in Yuuri’s opinion.

They had their member of the family that was, without a doubt, a complete asshole.

Yuuri knows the story of his great-great-great grandfather quite well, to the point that he can repeat it by heart. Jiro Katsuki was a man that liked to flaunt his status as a member of the Katsuki family like a peacock flaunted its feathers.

By that analogy, Yuuri’s great-great-great grandfather would use his name and his money to seduce any young woman that held his interest, until someone prettier and curvier caught his eye. He flirted without restraint, he chased and pursued, bedded anyone that fell under his charms and casted them away to move onto the next conquest.

Until finally, he had seduced a woman many considered to be the most beautiful woman in town, resulting in the woman becoming pregnant with a Katsuki of their own.

Once news got back to the Katsuki family, they _begged_ Jiro to take this woman as his wife and cease this smudging of their name with his playboy ways. Begrudgingly, Jiro did. The two were wed on the last day in March on a grassy knoll overlooking a lake. If endings were like the ones in fairy tales, this one would happily say that Jiro and the woman fell deeply in love with each other and their child was born into the good life as all Katsukis are.

But it wasn’t.

Approximately two months after their wedding, Jiro was caught engaging in an affair with a woman from a neighboring town, described as being more beautiful than the woman he took as his wife.

The very lake that their wedding took place across, became the location where Jiro’s wife drowned herself and their unborn child out of grief. The funeral was small; Jiro’s lack of showing up was something that shouldn’t have surprised anyone, but still sparked outrage and spite from the in-laws and close family members of the deceased.

That same night, the woman’s elderly grandmother and rumored town witch, approached the Katsuki home determined to avenge her granddaughter, and make this family that raised a spoiled pig pay for their negligence.

She threw animal guts all over the rose bushes and windows, and commanded that the next Katsuki male will be born with a face of a pig like his wretched ancestor. And only when one of his kind claims the son as their own until death do they part, will the curse be broken.

Years passed since that night, and as luck would have it, the next woman that Jiro married due to getting her pregnant didn’t give birth to a son, but to a daughter.

Who then gave birth to more daughters.

And those daughters gave birth to _more_ daughters.

It was years of worrying. Years of wondering who would be the one cursed with the pig-faced son. Once one daughter was born, most of the Katsuki women refused to have another child out of fear for drawing the unlucky straw. The men that married into the family and gave up their name to take on the title of ‘Katsuki’, would always agree and never push the issue. They didn’t want to be the one stuck with a pig-faced son either.

That was what Hiroko and Toshiya Katsuki agreed to when Mari was born. Absolutely no more children.

A Saturday night in February with the right atmosphere and enough bottles of champagne made them conveniently forget that agreement.

Yuuri’s father convinced his mother to keep the child, due to the probability of her giving birth to a son was slim to none without really crunching the numbers. He also had the idea in his head that maybe the curse would only take affect if the _first born_ is a son; since their first born is a daughter, the curse just might skip over them. They _could_ have another daughter, or maybe the curse didn’t really exist and the Katsukis have wasted a century worrying over nothing.

On a Monday in November, a Katsuki male was finally born. Yuuri Katsuki.

On a Monday in November, the curse finally came true.

 

* * *

 

“He’s a poet. His poems have already been translated into ten different languages _and_ there’s talk of him getting a movie deal based on his collection of sonnets!” 

Yuuri lazily flips the page of his book on Parisian architecture, not even listening to Minako’s current pitch. So many buildings and sights that he will only see through photographs and movies. He sighs in deep and slumps in his bed, while Minako crosses her arms.

“Yuuri? Are you even listening to me?”

“Yes,” he answers, turning another page. Paris lights are beautiful. There’s so many trees around the Katsuki estate and hedges that are too tall to keep out unwanted paparazzi. Yuuri’s never seen the city lights. He _badly_ wants to see the glow of a city filled with life and excitement, instead of remaining in the distant and closed off cage that his parents so lovingly created for him.

Minako sighs, sitting down at the foot of his bed. “Yuuri, come on. This might be the one. This might be the man that will _stay_. I’m _sure_ of it,” Minako says with a smile. Yuuri sighs in deep again.

“You said the same thing for the last six years,” Yuuri mutters not so quietly. He sees out of the corner of his eye Minako tense, but he doesn’t take back what he’s said. It’s the truth, he’s just the only one that chooses to acknowledge it. Yuuri closes his book and sits up, resting his hands on his knees.

“I’ll try and make myself look decent,” Yuuri tells the woman, and trudges out of his bedroom to take a long soak in the tub before she can say anything else.

 

* * *

 

It feels like the same day repeats itself, from when Yuuri first turned eighteen to now when he is twenty-four years old. 

His parents meet with a suitor Minako has selected over brunch prepared by Yuko. The suitors only needed one requirement: they must be of blue blood status. One of Yuuri’s own kind to accept him and break the curse. His parents never let on how desperate they are to find just _one_ person that will love Yuuri with the pig snout, and talk through their smiles and feel the suitor out before they move on to the next stage and meet with Yuuri. While Yuko serves them, she relays information to Nishigori, who then tells Yuuri so he can get a sense of what kind of person he is going to meet.

The suitors always pass the stage with his parents. It’s the part where they need to sit down and meet with Yuuri that everything falls apart.

Georgi Popovich, Minako’s current pick, is no different from the hundreds Yuuri’s met so far.

He’s just as Nishigori described him, overly preened and carries an air of dramatism that hangs over his head like a cloud. Yuuri watches him wandering around his library through a one-way mirror from his bedroom, not feeling any physical attraction just from seeing how Georgi looks. Yuuri can’t smell him, but Nishigori cheekily informed Yuuri that the man is wearing some brand of expensive cologne that is strong enough to choke his lungs.

When Georgi starts to check through Yuuri’s stack of poetry on the shelf is when Yuuri speaks up.

“Minako told me you write poety,” he says into the small microphone on the stand by the mirror. He watches Georgi jump in surprise when Yuuri’s voice filters through the speakers in the library; they always jump.

“Uh, yes! I do! I’m actually quite well known for my poetry,” Georgi says, looking around in confusion as to where Yuuri can be. He rubs his chin, a small smile coming to his lips. “If you want, I can recite a few poems-”

“No thank you,” Yuuri cuts off, resting his chin on his arms. Georgi looks a little bit downhearted for a moment, before he shakes off Yuuri’s tone and goes back to admiring his collection.

“You have a lot of books about love and romance. Is that something you value?” Georgi asks, trying to make small-talk. Yuuri hums.

“It’s something that interests me, I guess. I do a lot of reading. Science-fiction, fantasy, historical pieces, crime noirs, I just like to escape for a bit when I read,” Yuuri explains. He longs for any sort of way to escape, whether that be through the books that fill his library or the photographs Mari sends him from her travels abroad.

Georgi wanders towards the mirror, looking at it with slight caution. “And do you have an ideal romance that you escape to?” Georgi asks. He adjusts his tie in the mirror and smooths out the wrinkles in his suit, while Yuuri watches behind the glass with disinterest.

“No. Nothing that I can experience will ever get close to what happens in the book, so I try not to let myself get too wrapped up,” Yuuri mutters. Georgi gives a chuckle at that, and leans on the mantle to stare into the mirror.

“Nonsense. In fact, sometimes that is the purest form of love to experience in that of fairy tales,” Georgi explains with a smile as he checks his teeth. “I for one, think that there’s a special someone for every single soul on this planet. Even those that feel like they are alone, they have someone out there in the world that will love them unconditionally. They just haven’t met them yet.”

Yuuri feels his chest tighten at the words. “What do you think about me then?” he asks. Georgi hums and cocks his head to the side.

“I think that maybe _I_ could be your special someone, if you will have me,” Georgi answers with a romantic smile.

Yuuri knows that somewhere in the study downstairs - his parents, Minako, Yuko, and Seung-Gil - are huddled around the television watching the interaction happen. He bets that his mother and Minako are whispering to each other that ‘this is it, this is _the one_ ’. Yuuri looks over Georgi’s face and tries to picture himself kissing Georgi’s lips, while an official proudly announces them wed and Yuuri’s true self will break free from this ugly, pig-faced shell. He stares and ponders and wonders if maybe he will grow to love Georgi, if he can see them being together for the rest of their lives till death do they part.

Well, there’s only one way to find out.

Yuuri gets up from his spot at the mirror and heads down the small staircase to his hidden door that exits into the library. He knows Minako is going to chew him out later on, but Yuuri figures that if Georgi really is his ‘special someone’, they might as well get this over with.

With that, Yuuri pushes open the door and steps into the library. Georgi’s head turn to look and his eyes meet Yuuri’s. They drift just a little bit of the way down and-

Oh. Yep. There it is.

Georgi’s face contorts from a suave and elegant poet to disgust and horror and he _screams_. Yuuri barely has time to even get out a ‘hello’ or a ‘hi’, before Georgi stmbles over his own feet, knocks over a lamp, and bursts out the doors of the library to run down the hall. Shortly after, Yuuri sees Nishigori dashing after Georgi in his new running sneakers that his mother bought specifically for the butler. Yuuri listens for the sound of Nishigori tackling Georgi to the ground so Georgi and Seung-Gil can have a little ‘chat’, before he closes his eyes and sighs. He quietly goes back through the hidden door and closes it shut behind him, trudges up the small staircase to his bedroom. Yuuri sits down on the bed, number than he felt before, and stares up at the ceiling.

It shouldn’t hurt so much. It’s been six years of the same day repeated over and over again. The same shit, just different people. It shouldn’t hurt to feel so alone. It shouldn’t hurt to remind himself that there might be a someone in the world for everybody, but Yuuri’s somebody will never meet him. It shouldn’t hurt to feel so alone when he’s been alone all his life.

But it does.

 

* * *

 

“I think that Seung-Gil should make them sign the gag before they meet me,” Yuuri says before he takes a huge bite of his slice of chocolate pie. 

“I agree,” Seung-Gil says, looking over the legal documents of the latest suitor that Nishigori had to chase down before they escaped the grounds of the Katsuki’s estate. Yuuri wonders if their family lawyer has a special office for holding all the contracts and legal promises of silence that’s accrued over six years.

One thing’s for sure, Seung-Gil is being paid _handsomely_ for managing the Katsuki’s secrecy and making sure that everyone that encounters them does the same.

Nishigori raises his hand in agreement, before he dusts off the grass stains on his pants from tackling the suitor to the lawn. Minako frowns while Hiroko shakes her head ‘no’.

“If we make them sign something before they see you, they’ll start to think something is wrong with you,” Hiroko says with a sigh and Yuuri rolls his eyes.

“Something _is_ wrong with me,” Yuuri says and jabs a finger at his snout. His mother always winces whenever Yuuri points the nose out. Yuuri knows his parents try to hide how guilty they both feel for Yuuri’s predicament; Hiroko tries to ignore it and pretends it doesn’t exist, while Toshiya tries his best to embrace the nose and cracks pig jokes to lighten the mood, but just makes things worse.

Yuuri mumbles out an apology under his breath, and goes back to eating his cake. His mother bites her lower lip, trying to think of something to say to ease the tension that starts to build in his shoulders and forces his head down.

“. . .It’s not your nose, Yuuri,” his mother quietly reminds. Yuuri sighs around his fork; he knows. He knows that this is none of their fault. He knows that it’s his great-great-great grandfather’s fault for being an asshole and the true pig of the Katsuki family. It’s why Hiroko tries to groom and shape Yuuri into being the perfect gentleman that his ancestor never was. But it doesn't matter how well-learned Yuuri is; the second someone sees his face, they flee. Yuuri’s starting to wonder why they even bother anymore.

“. . .Fine, we’ll make them sign the gag before they see Yuuri,” Minako says, trying to plot everything together. “If anything, it might weed out the ones that are more likely to cause us trouble if they ask too many questions,” she muses.

Yuuri honestly thinks the only way to weed out the unlikely candidates is to just attach a photo of him, and _only_ a photo. It doesn’t matter if his name is ‘Katsuki’ and his family is wealthy. It doesn’t matter if he’s trained in different languages and instruments and is studious. It doesn’t matter that he would make a great husband if someone gave him the chance to love him.

All of these things that Minako and his parents try to fluff him up with just fall by the wayside when the suitor sees Yuuri’s face. He’s no longer the mysterious socialite Yuuri Katsuki, he becomes a pig-faced monster they almost were duped into spending the rest of their life with.

Yuuri takes another bite of pie and sighs.

 

* * *

 

Mari regularly sends postcards to Yuuri detailing the sights she sees while studying abroad. She acts as Yuuri’s eyes and ears and tongue, explaining everything that she did in one city from the sounds of the different languages she hears and the tastes of foods that Yuuri never knew existed. 

He sticks every one of the postcards onto the wall in his bedroom, marking out all the places he wants to go to on his dream vacation that will take a couple of years in order for him to see everything. France, Spain, England, so many things to do and to see, so much more outside of these four walls that Yuuri calls his room and has known his entire life.

Sometimes, when he stares at the postcards with pictures of the Sagrada Familia or London architecture or Paris with its lights all aglow, something creeps into Yuuri’s chest that squeezes his heart a little bit too tightly. He feels. . .helpless. He feels trapped, like Rapunzel in her tower waiting for a prince to rescue her and show her the world past the boundary she can see.

He hates the feeling, he hates it more than anything in the world. More than seeing the disgusted looks women and men give him when they see his face, when only a few minutes beforehand, they were whispering about all the sweet nothings they could give to Yuuri if he just lets them in. He hates that his life isn’t _his_ life, it’s in the hands of someone he doesn’t know that hasn’t met him yet. Someone that will give him life and love and the freedom that he so badly wants and has been neglected for the last twenty years of his life. He hates it so _much_.

Yuuri spends more or less time staring at the wall of postcards, of places that he will only go if this curse is broken. He tries to not let the thought of his life not beginning weigh heavy on his mind, nor does he try to accept the possibility that at this rate, it never will.

 

* * *

 

Making the suitors sign the gag before they meet Yuuri takes off the urgency of catching them before they manage to escape off the grounds and become a problem to the Katsukis by blabbing to the press all about how they almost married the pig-faced monster that is the Katsuki heir. It also is a major relief to Nishigori’s feet, since when the newest suitor comes screaming out of the library, he doesn’t rush after them like he normally did. 

“That was fast,” Nishigori points out to Yuuri as the young man comes trudging out of the library afterwards with a look mixed of apathy and self-loathing like always.

“I figured it would be just better to speed things along,” Yuuri mutters, voice barely audible. There’s something aching in his back and his shoulders. It crawls up his spine in uncomfortable shivers and circles around his ribcage like a vice squeezing his lungs. This sensation seems to grow with each failed matchmaking session, bubbling and festering like an open wound that can’t heal.

“Minako won’t be happy about you chasing off another suitor like this,” Nishigori warns. Yuuri knows that. He understands that his parents won’t be happy about it either. But he’s starting to find himself caring less and less about what they want. This entire thing is pointless anyways. Yuuri doesn’t know why they even bother to do this anymore when they keep getting nothing but the same results over and over and _over_ again.

Yet, when Minako comes storming up to him with his parents trailing close behind, Yuuri bites back his words.

“Yuuri! Why did you do that?!” the woman shouts.

“He said it would be better to speed things along,” Nishigori answers for Yuuri. Yuuri nods his head in agreement, stepping around Minako to continue to make his way to the kitchen in search of something to snack on something sweet. It won’t make the anxious thoughts in his head about how he is more likely to die the miserable and lonely death that should have been for his great-great-great grandfather than find someone that will love him disappear, but some leftover pie will stave off the hunger until dinnertime.

“Yuuri, you can’t just _throw_ yourself at them like this,” Minako says as she places her fingertips to the side of her temple.

“I thought you really liked that boy. Didn’t you say you were interested in Spaniards?” Toshiya comments out of the blue. The words make something sharp stab in Yuuri’s stomach and he twists his lips into an irritated frown before he realizes it.

“I said I was interested in _Spain_. As in the _country_. The place with the Sagrada Familia and Barcelona’s lights and everything that isn’t _here_.” Yuuri stops there, because his voice is starting to crack and rise in volume, and his mother is starting to give him that look again. That look of pity that makes it hard for her to meet Yuuri’s eyes and makes it easier for her to ignore Yuuri’s pain in favor of blaming all their misfortune on a dead ancestor.

Yuuri closes his eyes and turns away from the look. “. . .I’m sorry,” he murmurs. He always apologizes. He’s always the one that feels the most guilt for existing. The one that feels more of the weight on his shoulders, heavy enough for him to want to curl into himself and recede into nothingness. He wishes that maybe once. . .he wouldn’t have to say sorry for existing, for _being_ Yuuri Katsuki. He wishes this guilt of being alive and shame of living wouldn’t choke his throat the way it does now.

“. . .We just. . .we just have to keep trying, Yuuri,” Hiroko quietly pipes up.

Yuuri swallows down his reply and says nothing back.

 

* * *

 

Sundays are the days that Minako usually goes out to search for potential matches to see Yuuri at the end of the week and inevitably be scared off. Seung-Gil has Sundays off, Yuko and Nishigori run the errands on Sunday and his mother has a book club she attends Sunday mornings. His father stays in the study taking care of business that translates to catching up on all his shows that have been recorded. 

Sundays are in other words the loneliest day for Yuuri. Sometimes he enjoys the quiet after being overwhelmed throughout the week. Other times, he reminds himself that he better enjoy the quiet, because this might be his future: quietly alone.

Yuuri pushes around his cereal with his spoon, bracing his other arm against the table over a copy of the morning newspaper. Nothing of interest that catches his eye on the front page of the news that never concerns him. The comics are cute and somewhat funny, but Yuuri doesn’t get many of the pop culture references that fly over his head. He finishes the Sunday crossword in record speed while he sips from his glass of orange juice, then lazily roams to the personals for no reason other than there’s nothing else to read.

There’s a personal ad placed in big and bolded newsprint lettering asking for a roommate to help pay their share of the rent, in a luxury apartment that has a breathtaking view of the city. The person that placed the ad also mentioned them having a poodle, as if that little fact was added to sweeten the deal. Yuuri’s never had pets before, though he’s sure animals will be terrified of him too.

His eyes keep wandering to that personal ad and reads it over again and again. Yuuri’s not sure why, but he’s curious about it. A roommate. Living in the city in a high-rise apartment with an adorable poodle. The person that placed the ad sounds friendly too, especially since they ended the short blurb of text with a smiley face and a ‘ _please call if interested!!!’_.

Yuuri doesn’t know what possesses him to discreetly tear out the ad and fold it up to tuck into his back pocket before his father comes into the kitchen to take the newspaper and catch up on the latest in sports. He quietly goes back to his cereal and thinks about looking over the city from a view high up, far far _far_ away from his home. 

 

* * *

 

“That thing is awful,” Yuuri says with disdain as he watches Nisigori trying to find a space to place the deer head his newest suitor sent to his parents as a ‘gift’. Toshiya rubs his chin, admiring how the chandelier lights bounce off the deer’s glass eyes from the spot where Nishigori is holding it, before he shakes his head. 

“Maybe a little bit more to the left,” he calls out. Beneath Nishigori trying to keep the ladder steady, Seung-Gil gives an irritated huff that translates to ‘this is not in my job description, I shouldn’t have to be even _doing_ this’. Toshiya turns back to his son and gives a shrug of his shoulders, a smile on his lips. “It’s from your fiancé! It would have been rude to turn down a present!”

“He’s not my fiancé. He’s never seen me and it’s going to be awkward having that thing on the wall as a constant reminder that _another_ person rejected me because of my face,” Yuuri complains. Not that Yuuri really expects his father to listen, but vocalizing about his feelings is a lot better than bottling his emotions up to the point that all he can do his bring his pillow to his face and scream. 

“He’s going to love you, Yuuri. I’m sure of it,” Toshiya beams.

“How sure?”

“A hundred and ten percent sure!”

Another one of his father’s random number pulls. Yuuri’s living proof of how wrong his father can be; this is going to be a disaster. He lets his shoulders sag and looks at the deer head, locking eyes with its glass ones.

“. . .Maybe he won’t run away,” Yuuri says dryly as he turns on the balls of his feet to head upstairs to his bedroom. “Maybe he’ll decide to mount me on the wall too.”

He’s barely able to hear a shout of ‘that’s not funny!’ from his father as he heads up the staircase.

 

* * *

 

Jean-Jacques Leroy is handsome. French-Canadian, pretty blue eyes and gorgeous skin, all tight and taut muscles beneath an expensive tailored suit with gold on his wrist in the form of a Rolex watch. He’s easy on the eyes; Yuuri gave an embarrassing hiccup of nerves when he saw the man stroll in with a walk that reeks of confidence, his broad shoulders squared back and his head held high ready to meet Yuuri and woo him. He’s. . .so _gorgeous_. 

Then, JJ opens his mouth.

“So, when do you want to get married?” JJ asks aloud to the library room. Yuuri raises an eyebrow in his spot behind the one-way mirror.

“What do you mean?” he asks. JJ is the first one to not jump at Yuuri’s sudden voice. Instead, he turns to find the source of the voice immediately, eyes searching the room as a coy grin sides too naturally onto his face.

“Well, I was thinking that the sooner we get married, the better,” JJ says, plopping down on the leather couch and kicking his feet up onto the coffee table like he’s at home. “I was thinking about a wedding on the beach. My family owns a private beach in the Maldives. We can get married in the day, enjoy our honeymoon on my parent’s yacht in the evening. Have you ever been on a yacht?”

Yuuri’s never been on a yacht. He’s never been to the beach. He doesn’t even know where the Maldives _are_.

JJ doesn’t let him answer, continuing to talk. “How do you feel about getting married next week? I know some of the finest chefs that can cater for our reception and best recording artists to sing for our first dance as Mr. and Mr. Leroy.”

“. . .You expect me to take your last name?” Yuuri asks.

JJ shrugs. “It could be Leroy-Katsuki. But I personally think that Leroy sounds better. Rolls off the tongue nicer, don’t you think? You know, I can get a seat in any high-class restaurant in the city without needing a reservation _just_ from telling them my name? Also, my family name in French translates to ‘the king’, which is funny because that’s sort of a little nickname of mine,” JJ says with a toothy grin that rubs Yuuri the wrong way.

“Oh. I see.”

“Have you ever been to France, Yuuri?”

Yuuri glances over his shoulder at his postcard board, pictures of French fields and monuments and museums littering the top right corner. He wants to see the city lights. He wants to see

“I. . .no, I haven’t-”

“My family owns two chateaus in Nice. When we vacation every summer, we often go down to Monte Carlo in our newest luxury car. I personally own two Mulsannes and a Ferarri California T. When we get married, I’ll buy you one so we’ll match!” JJ says with a hearty laugh. Yuuri laughs too, but it’s awkward and gets drowned out by JJ’s voice again, almost like he never made a sound at all.

JJ talks, and he talks, and he _talks_. He talks more than any other suitor Yuuri had to sit with, and for the first time the conversation seems to be less about the suitor learning about Yuuri, but Yuuri learning about JJ. His likes, his dislikes, his interests and what bores him, what he expects from Yuuri in the relationship and what Yuuri _should_ expect to get out of the relationship. All the pros of marrying someone as rich and handsome as Jean-Jacques Leroy, none of the cons. Yuuri barely manages to say anything that is more than affirmations or passive noises of interest. Even when they’re not noises of interests, JJ interprets them as such and continues with his conversation about the weather in Barcelona, and the colorfully vibrant people he’s met in Venice, and the different foods and drinks he’s had in Vienna.

It’s. . .it’s overwhelming. It’s also just a bit irritating.

“Excuse me,” Yuuri manages to _finally_ interrupt JJ’s one-sided conversation about hunting game and how he managed to kill the deer that Yuuri is forced to greet every time he passes through the foyer. “I. . .I’m sorry, but why do you want to marry me?”

JJ blinks, but he doesn’t hesitate in running his mouth. “It’s because you’re a Katsuki of course! This family produced some of the most beautiful women I’ve seen, so it only makes sense for the men born into this family to be just as beautiful. Plus, the fact that there has yet to be a suitor to satisfy you interests me. I like the challenge of having the first Katsuki male as my husband,” JJ boasts.

“So, you think that I’m some prize to be won,” Yuuri says flatly. JJ’s smile grows, cheeky and humorous.

“Well, _I’m_ quite a prize to be won too,” JJ says with a gesture to his body like it’s the holiest of holy.

“But the fact is that you’re not really in love with me,” Yuuri murmurs. A sudden ache stabs directly into Yuuri’s sternum, but he bites the cusp of a choked gasp back down. “This is just wasting my time-”

“I’m _never_ a waste of someone’s time! People enjoy having me in their company! Why, just last week-”

“I don’t - I don’t _care_ ,” Yuuri spits out. He doesn’t care. He doesn't want to _do this anymore_. Is he doomed to just sit here and listen to people promise Yuuri the world and never follow through with it? To just stare at these four walls and never see the lights of a city’s glow or feel someone’s arms around him or lips on his filled with love? His life. . .he’ll never escape from this place. He’ll never escape from this curse.

JJ is on his feet, striding towards the mirror to check his reflection. “Well, you’re more than free to take your time and consider our proposal. But I’ll have you know that you’ll be making a big mistake turning me down. I once went on a date with –”

“I’m cursed, you know,” Yuuri cuts off. “I have a face of a pig.”

JJ laughs. “Funny! I love a person that’s modest about their looks. People that talk and blab about themselves and their appearance are _so_ obnoxious.”

“You’re not listening to me,” Yuuri stresses. No one is listening. It’s like his words and his voice bounce off and echo into oblivion. He’s the only one that hears the tremble of anger in his throat, threatening to crack into an outburst that has been bottled up for too too long.

JJ leans up against the mantle, exhaling out a sigh. “Well, I understand if you feel like you are ‘cursed’. We all feel like that. Sometimes, the lifestyles of the social elite might seem a little bit empty and a little bit fake. I’ve had lots of people approach me trying to be my friend just because of how many cars I own and who I know and what clothes I wear. But I don’t let them get to me! I know the people that I care about get to see the true me and that’s what you’re getting Yuuri! The real JJ Style!”

He looks up, and for a split second, Yuuri feels like JJ knows he’s behind the mirror watching him, since he smiles a smile that is refreshing and warm and makes Yuuri feel like he’s stuck in a sticky, gooey mess that pulls the breath out of his lungs. “So, what do you say? Let’s stop with these pretenses and get married!” JJ shouts.

Yuuri sits still in his chair, watching the lines of JJ’s smile and the shape of his eyes, memorizing the color and the sparkle and the shine of them. This isn’t true love. This will never work. Yuuri knows that all he needs for the curse to be broken is for someone to love him, it doesn’t have to be mutual. But he knows it; he knows JJ will be singing a different tune when he lays eyes on Yuuri’s face. He doesn’t want to go through this again. He doesn’t want to melt by words and promises and the dream of _finally_ leaving to be slapped away again by the very hand that offered in the first place.

He’s just so _tired_. He doesn’t want to do this anymore. He _can’t_ do this anymore.

So, he shakes his head from side to side.

“No,” he quietly whispers.

JJ raises an eyebrow. “What was that?”

“I – I can’t do this anymore,” Yuuri says, rising to his feet.

“I don’t get it,” JJ says, dumbfounded. Yuuri is already making his way to the hidden entrance, bracing his hand on the door handle and pushes it open. He steps out into the library and JJ’s head immediately turn to lock eyes with Yuuri’s. There is no wait for the look of shock and disgust to move onto JJ’s face, no hesitation in the scream that rips from JJ’s throat.

“Y-You! You’re – you’re a –”

“A pig. I _told_ you. I’m a pig. This is _me_ ,” Yuuri croaks out. There’s anger that’s seeping on his tongue, dripping with contempt. He hates this. He hates himself. He hates his great-great-great grandfather. He _hates_ being a Katsuki. He hates that he’s so _helpless_ and that this life that was forced onto him is something he can _never escape from_. He hates this. He _hates this **so much**_.

JJ is backing himself into a corner, trying to watch Yuuri for any sudden movements, as if Yuuri is some sort of wild beast that is ready to strike and eat JJ whole. It just makes Yuuri _angrier_. What happened to the Maldives? What happened to visits to Monte Carlo and vacationing in Nice? How come Yuuri has to sit and listen to JJ go _on and on_ about the _real_ him, when JJ can’t even bother to sit for two seconds when he is faced with the _real_ Yuuri? Why did this happen to him? Why did he have to be born? Why did he have to go through this _curse? Why him?_

The doors to the library suddenly swing open, which elicits an unflattering shriek from JJ’s lips as Minako, Toshiya and Hiroko come rushing inside.

“Yuuri! What are you-” Seeing his chance at freedom, JJ makes a run for it. He nearly takes down the floor lamp with him as he dashes out past Minako and out the open doors into the hallway. Minako nearly trips in her heels as she tries to make a grab for him. “N-Nishigori, stop him!”

“Just let him go! He already signed the gag anyways,” Yuuri spits, voice warbling with spite. His tone startles his parents, Yuuri trying his hardest to feel the least bit shamed for the guilt and worried look in their eyes but just feels more heat boil beneath his skin. Swiftly, Yuuri turns on his heels and briskly starts to walk to his bedroom, but gets stopped when a hand tightly wraps around his wrist.

“Y-Yuuri, just hold on a second-” Hiroko tries to say with a smile that’s too tight on her lips and too filled with worry to be anything reassuring to the swirl of emotions clashing in Yuuri’s chest. Yuuri pulls his hand free from his mother’s hold.

“No. No, I’m _done_. I don’t want to do this anymore. I _can’t_ do this anymore,” Yuuri says with a shake of his head. Hiroko brings her hands to hold Yuuri’s face gently in her grasp.

“We just need to try harder, Yuuri. We just need to find yourself someone nice and-”

“It’s not going to work,” Yuuri says, pulling his mother’s hands away. “I know you want to think that there might be _some_ person in the world that won’t run away but they _don’t exist_. I’m. . .this is what I am. A monster that is going to die alone like my great-great-great grandfather should have,” Yuuri says, voice cracking on the last syllable.

Toshiya steps forward, reaching a hand out to pull Yuuri in close, but Yuuri remains firmly rooted into his spot and keeps his head turned down.

“Yuuri, you don’t know that. Why, I bet-”

“Dad, I don’t want to hear another one of your calculations when the facts are that every single person you guys force on me _always_ runs away. Do you know how that makes me _feel? Six years_ of having people running away from me screaming and yelling ‘pig!’. _Six years_ of not knowing what is it like outside of the estate and being trapped here while Mari gets to explore the world and _everyone_ gets a chance to have a normal life except me,” Yuuri interrupts.

He feels like there’s more that he wants to say, but now all he can feel is anger with himself and anger with his family and anger at just _existing_. There’s an ache that exists all over his body and makes him curl inwards. It’s heavy in his shoulders and burns the hottest against his sternum and the base of his skull. Yuuri doesn’t want to talk anymore. He doesn’t want to think anymore. He doesn’t want to do _anything_ anymore.

His parents don’t look like they have the words they need to say to make Yuuri feel any better about himself. Yuuri doesn’t expect them to; they’ve spent their time trying to prepare Yuuri for the day that the curse will finally be broken, they never spent time trying to prepare Yuuri for the day it _doesn’t_. Their eyes and the way that they pull their lower lip in between their teeth just spell out pity and regret and Yuuri _hates_ that he’s such a burden that his parents give him that expression every time they go through this.

“I’m going to bed,” Yuuri mumbles to no one, and quietly slips back into his bedroom through the secret entrance, shutting the door behind him. When he falls face first onto the bed, he buries his face into the pillow and lets out a scream that rips through his vocal chords and yells until his throat is sore.

 

* * *

 

His parents don’t bring up any more talk of suitors to Yuuri for a week. The deer head that was hanging on the wall is now gone; a portrait painting of a rainforest that is completely out of place with the other artwork and photographs surrounding it replaces it. 

Yuuri doesn’t speak to anyone for a week, since usually conversations that happen when he’s feeling moody and uncooperative eventually drift to how he needs to _keep trying_ and there’s _someone_ for Yuuri and he just _can’t_ give up. He doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t want anyone trying to convince him to just hold out hope when there just _isn’t any_.

Yuuri wishes that real life were like his books, where no matter what, the protagonist always managed to find their one true love and live their happily ever after. Yuuri’s life practically is a fairytale, down to the wicked witch’s curse and the redeeming power of true love. But there’s no Prince Charming that will come to rescue him. At times, Yuuri wishes that he didn’t need a Prince Charming in the first place.

Yuuri lies awake in bed, staring at his ceiling and the rafter beams above his head. If he’s not staring at his ceiling, he’s staring at the wall of postcards. His wall of little dreams that a Fairy Godmother can’t grant him; his one and only wish to finally be free of his curse is something that a genie can’t give him.

He doesn’t like just sitting around, but the only other option would be to go downstairs to his father’s study where he knows his parents are talking and trying to find a way to convince Yuuri to sit down with another of Minako’s matches. Even if Yuuri doesn’t go downstairs to talk to his parents and take on another suitor, it won’t be long until Minako just surprises Yuuri with another suitor anyways. Yuuri never has a choice or say in the matter. This isn’t his life that he chose to be born into. This isn’t the life he _wants_ to be trapped in.

At times far and few in between, there’s a voice that flashes at the back of Yuuri’s mind that whispers, ‘if this isn’t the life he wants, then maybe he should do everyone a favor and cut it short’. He’ll no longer be a burden on his parents. He’ll no longer have to spend nights lying awake and wondering when his life will begin, when maybe he was never meant to have a happy life in the first place. Maybe that is the only conclusion for the sham of a ‘fairy tale’ that is his life, one that doesn’t have a ‘happily ever after’.

Yuuri sighs and brings a hand to his throat, then swings his legs out of bed to get up and lazily trudge to the kitchen for a glass of water. As he does so, he knocks over one of his editions of _La Parfum de Fleurs_ that has been sitting at the foot of his bed for the past few weeks that Yuuri always says he’s going to put away, but usually just rereads the moment he picks it back up into his hands.

A piece of paper that he has been using as a bookmark flutters to the floor when he picks the book up from the ground. He grabs the paper as well, squinting his eyes in the dark to find that it is the personal ad looking for a roommate.

A roommate.

Someone to live with that doesn’t know Yuuri, but knows the outside world and all the little nuances that Yuuri so desperately wants to discover. They won’t have to look at Yuuri’s face; Yuuri can just stay in his room and not be a bother to them, just so long as they allow Yuuri to stay there until he figures out where to go next.

Should he go? Should he run away? This is a big decision that might end up doing more harm than good. His parents. . .his parents will be so hurt and worried that he’s gone. But at the same time, Yuuri knows that they will be more than content if Yuuri just remains in this estate for the rest of his life and never see the outside world so long as this curse is still in place. He doesn’t know what the outside world is like. He’s not naïve enough to believe that it’s anything like it is in books and movies, all glitz and glamour and beautiful people everywhere you turned. What if something bad happens? What if he’s waltzing into something dangerous?

God, the _one_ thing he gets to choose for himself and he doesn’t even think he _can_ choose.

He paces back and forth around his bedroom, keeping his footsteps light to not alert anyone downstairs. He pockets the ad, and starts to pack and unpack his clothes and pack again. Should he pack light? Should he take more things? He has access to the Katsuki’s bank accounts so money is no issue, but if he packs too much, it will be difficult to leave unnoticed. Plus, what if Yuuri doesn’t like the person that placed the roommate ad? What if they’re rude? What if they’re arrogant and obnoxious and just as bad as every suitor that tried their chance at his hand? What if –

There’s a gentle knock at his bedroom door and Yuuri quickly shoves his suitcase full of clothes underneath his bed and plops down on his mattress. “C-Come in!” he stammers, hoping the panic in his voice isn’t at all noticeable.

The door cracks open slightly, Hiroko peeking her head inside. “It’s a bit dark in here,” Hiroko comments, switching on one of Yuuri’s lamps. Yuuri swallows, giving a stiff nod of his head as his mother sits down beside him and pulls him into a tender hug for no reason. “Are you okay, Yuuri?”

“I’m fine,” he answers, tone distant.

Hiroko pulls back and holds Yuuri’s face. “Your father and I were talking,” Hiroko continues, voice pleasantly soft. “And we were thinking that maybe you could sit down with Minako and pick out the next suitors to sit with you, so you feel more involved with the process. After all, this _is_ the person that you’ll be marrying, so maybe you’d feel a stronger connection if you get to see them beforehand,” Hiroko explains. She brings her hands down from Yuuri’s cheeks and takes hold of his hands. “A-And maybe your father and I can be closer by when you and your suitor talk to offer some encouragement and things won’t be so tense. Would that be better, Yuuri?”

No, it wouldn't. It doesn’t _matter_. They will always run in the end. Why is Yuuri the only one that has accepted that fact? He’s _done_.

His mother’s eyes are sparkling in worried anticipation for Yuuri’s answer, hoping that its nothing but positive. They’re so hopeful that all it takes to break the curse is to just _try harder_ , and Yuuri feels his body growing heavy with dread at the thought of continuing down this stubborn path for the rest of his life until he dies.

“I. . .I need to think about it,” Yuuri mumbles. His mother takes his answer with a nod of her head and a smile on her lips, her arms going around to hug Yuuri firmly.

“Okay, we’ll wait downstairs for you. Get some sleep if you have to, okay?” Hiroko says with a gentle lilt of her voice that makes Yuuri feel more nervous than calm. He doesn’t respond to her words and is stiff when she rubs his back in slow circles.

Yuuri says nothing when she gets up from the bed and leaves his bedroom door open as a welcoming invitation for him to follow her. He sits in silence, thinking and thinking and _thinking_. What is he going to do? Should he stay? Should he go? Should he just give up? Should he try harder? What else can he do if this nose is all they will see? If this nose is all who he is, why bother trying?

What if he just. . .leaves to take a break? If things don’t turn out with the roommate, then Yuuri will just come back. After all, everyone ends up running from Yuuri anyways, so when the roommate inevitably finds out that Yuuri is a horrible monster, Yuuri will disappear without a trace and return home. Until then, he’ll keep his face hidden for as long as possible. He won’t be hurting his parents if he’s just gone for. . .a month or so. He’ll be fine. He’ll call them and tell them he’s fine. It will only be for one month. He might not even like the outside world. It might not be the thing of dreams and wonder that Yuuri is making it out to be through his tinted view of rose and desperation. 

Yuuri pulls his suitcase out from underneath his bed and takes it into his hands. He paces around his bedroom again for a few more minutes debating whether or not to go or stay or _go_ , until he finally feels a surge of panic building in his thighs that toes on his shoes and makes him hurry down the steps with his suitcase clumsily bumping along in his hands.

“Yuuri!” he hears his father shout from his study.

“I’m getting a glass of water!” Yuuri shouts back, trying to stop the erratic thud of his heart that threatens to choke the breath out of him. He hurries into the downstairs bathroom to grab a medical mask to slip on from the cupboard over the sink, and then to the kitchen and the side door that leads out into the garden. When he throws the door open, Yuuri is hit with a gust of cold air that stuns him for a few seconds. It’s a different kind of cold than the cold of the air conditioning that blows lightly through the estate. It’s bitter and sharp, crisp and _freezing_ and wonderful all at once.

When he looks up, he’s amazed at how many stars dot the skies and how bright the moon shines. It’s strange; Yuuri’s always had a view of the sky from his window, but it just feels different from looking at it from the outside.

“Yuuri, can you get me a glass of water too?!” Yuuri hears his father shout again and he twitches, accidentally slamming the door shut in his haste. He quickly runs down the cobblestone pathway of the garden towards the metal gate that leads out to the road that heads to the city. When he yanks open the gate, the garden’s light comes on and he shrieks.

Yuuri stumbles out of the gate and runs, not looking back over his shoulder, not even as he faintly hears his parents shout out his name in the dark and the labored pants of his breath manage to drown out his heartbeat. He runs and he runs and he _runs_ , lights and buildings and vehicles growing in quantity with each second as he reaches the outskirts of the city from where the estate lies on an overlooking hill. Something is burning at corners of his eyes, Yuuri realizing only when he reaches an intersection to catch his breath that he’s crying.

Yuuri furiously wipes at his eyes and adjusts his mask, looking up and around as he drinks in new sights and sounds and smells. He never knew how close the city is to the estate, it always felt like it was miles away and far out of Yuuri’s reach that he can never hope to see it. It’s so _loud_ and there’s so many _people_ , some that even bump into him on the sidewalk that seems overcrowded with pedestrians trying to get to their own locations. Yuuri holds his luggage tighter to his body, awkwardly fumbling for the slip of paper in his front pocket.

There’s no address, only the request that if interested, to give the phone number a call. Yuuri doesn’t own a cell phone. . .and he didn’t think to call ahead of time while at home in his panic on whether or not he should run away. Yuuri gives a quick shoulder check, as if his parents will appear right behind him to drag him back home.

Nervously, Yuuri hurries down the street in search for a pay phone, bumping into more people as he tries to keep himself from already sticking out anymore than he already is. The paper is clutched tight in his fist, trying not to let all this new surrounding overwhelm him. The city lights are so bright from below, drowning out the stars in the sky above with a warm glow. Yuuri doesn’t know where to look, at the sky or the neon lights or steal glances at all the faces that he’s seeing at once that aren’t fleeing from him in terror now that his nose is hidden. He just keeps moving further and further into the heart of the city, trying to forget about what he is leaving behind.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri is able to get a hold of a phone after he circles around the block a total of ten times and an off-duty police officer stops to help him. Granted, it absolutely terrified the living hell out of Yuuri when the man approached him, but luckily he didn’t ask too many questions about why Yuuri is wandering around the city with a suitcase and kept his curious glances to Yuuri’s face brief. 

“ _Hello?_ ” a voice answers after the third ring. It’s a man, his voice smooth and calm and making Yuuri’s chest tickle just a bit.

“U-Um – I – are you – I’m – the ad?” Yuuri facepalms. Why is he so _awful_ at talking?

“. . . _You’re calling about being my new roommate?_ ” the voice manages to decipher. Yuuri gives a furious nod of the head ‘yes’, then realizes that the voice can’t see him so he stammers out a ‘yes’ as well. “ _Great! Do you want to meet tomorrow afternoon to see the-_ ”

“C-Can I come now, actually? I – um – I really. . .please?”

Yuuri is met with a pause of silence that feels like a century when in reality, it’s only ten seconds.

“ _Um, sure. I just need to clean the place up a bit but, sure? When are you going to-”_

“Now. I’ll come right now,” Yuuri repeats. The voice chuckles.

“ _You’re an eager one, aren’t you?_ ” the voice teases. Yuuri feels his cheeks warming as the voice gives another chuckle. “ _Got a pen and paper so I can give you the address?_ ”

Yuuri quickly pats down his pockets, turning to the officer and miming the strokes of a pen. He hands him one from inside his car, watching as Yuuri quickly scribbles out the address on the side of the crumpled paper ad with a flushed expression and nervous stammers of the throat. When Yuuri hangs up and gives the phone back to the officer, the man crosses his arms over his chest and raises an eyebrow at Yuuri.

“You good?” he asks. Yuuri looks down at the piece of paper in his hands, reading over the address that he has no idea how to get to. After a few beats, the officer holds out his hand and Yuuri passes off the paper so he could have a look at the address. The older man purses his lips and hums. “I know the area. Do you need me to take you?”

Yuuri nods his head. “P-Please,” he adds. The officer cracks a grin and juts his thumb over to the car.

“Hop in.”

Yuuri shuffles over, careful with his luggage as he sidles into the passenger seat and props it over his lap. He takes a few seconds to look around the interior, never sitting in an actual _car_ before, and marvels at all of the buttons and knobs on the dashboard before he is politely asked to buckle up.

“I’m Celestino, by the way,” the officer – Celestino – introduces with a hand outstretched towards Yuuri. Yuuri awkwardly shakes it.

“Um. . .Yuuri,” Yuuri responds. Celestino seems to wait for a second if Yuuri is going to say more than that, but Yuuri slumps more in his seat and turns his attention out the window.

“Are you going to be okay, Yuuri?” Celestino asks. He eyes Yuuri’s luggage on his lap, then glances over his face and at the medical mask. Yuuri adjusts it again when Celestino’s gaze feels too heavy and too suspicious.

“I. . .I’m fine. . .I’m great,” Yuuri responds, breathless with a trembling smile he doesn’t know helps or hinders. Celestino hums again, staring at the luggage on Yuuri’s lap once more, before he switches on the radio and turns on the ignition. Yuuri tries to relax in the seat, but all he feels is electric nerves shooting up and down his spine and making his leg bob up and down in anxiousness.

Celestino points at a button. “This is the siren,” he says and winks at Yuuri. Yuuri stares, confused. “. . .You can press it if you want.”

“O-Oh! Um, thank you,” Yuuri says with a nod of his head, looking at the button curiously. He reaches out a timid finger and presses it, immediately turning it off when the siren’s sound and bright flashing lights spook him. Celestino starts to laugh, while Yuuri owlishly blinks around.

“Um. . .it’s really loud,” Yuuri informs Celestino.

“That’s the idea, Yuuri,” Celestino responds. After a few minutes, Yuuri gives the button a light press. The siren blares again, even louder in Yuuri’s opinion, and he twitches in his seat from the noises that are all so new to him. It’s hidden, but Yuuri is smiling beneath his mask and his grip on the handle of his suitcase is getting sweaty. He’s out. He’s _free_.

His life is now starting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry that I've been gone for almost a month and this is the best that i can come up with for a chapter OTL


	6. Chapter 6

Victor usually isn’t one to believe in fairytales. He’s long outgrown the stories of the Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus and the monster that lives underneath the bed or the boogeyman in the closet. But what stands before him in living flesh and warm blood feels ripped right out from the watercolor pages of a tale that would not be amiss if it began with the phrase ‘Once upon a time’.

“So, it’s a curse,” Victor starts off slowly. The smell of freshly brewed tea wafts into his nose as he holds his mug in stiff hands. Yuuri sits beside him with his own mug of tea, and gives a slow nod of his head. Briefly, he brings his tea to take a sip, and Victor is amazed at finally seeing Yuuri ingest something in front of him without covering up or hiding away from Victor’s eyes. It’s strange at how mesmerizing it is, Yuuri’s lips and his mouth and the way they purse out to sigh when he brings the rim of the mug away.

Both of them sit on the floor of Yuuri’s bedroom, pensive and trying to digest the information just discussed. Makkachin starts to doze off into a light slumber, and Victor can see out of the corner of his eye that Yuuri is watching him. Waiting for him to do something like run or scream or call him a monster.

Instead, Victor quietly mutters, “Your parents. . .they put an ad out for you in the paper. They’re worried about you.”

Yuuri’s grip on his mug tightens. “I’m not going back just to be locked away again. Not when I’m _finally_ getting the chance to live and do things that I thought I would never be able to do,” Yuuri says, lips twisting into a frown.

“Do you know how awful it is to have someone else be the one that controls your life? If it isn’t my parents trying to protect me and keep me ‘safe’, its these suitors that I had to constantly sit and listen to them promise me the world and all my dreams come true, only for them to immediately run when they see my face. It’s _horrible_. I. . .I hate it. I hate this nose so much. I hate this _curse_. But. . .but when I’m with you and Makkachin, I. . .the curse doesn’t matter anymore. Because I’m ‘Just Yuuri’, and ‘Just Yuuri’ gets to go bowling and eat pork cutlet bowls and go on evening walks in the park with you. ‘Just Yuuri’ gets a chance to feel _normal_ , or at least pretend to. ‘Yuuri Katsuki’ will never be normal."

Yuuri looks back down at his tea. “I. . .I don’t want to go back there. I _can’t_ go back there,” Yuuri croaks. Victor sees the slight tremble in Yuuri’s shoulders and hears how Yuuri’s breathing seems to quietly hitch in his throat. Wordlessly, Victor raises his hand to cup Yuuri’s cheek. The trembling beneath his fingertips immediately ceases, and Yuuri’s eyes slowly move to meet Victor’s. They lock on each other and stares deep, searching Victor’s eyes with a shiny glimmer.

“You’re still you,” Victor says, thumb stroking over the softness of Yuuri’s cheek. It doesn’t matter if he’s ‘Just Yuuri’ or ‘Yuuri Katsuki’, this Yuuri with warm eyes and soft skin and beautiful lips is. . .he’s _Victor’s_ Yuuri. The same Yuuri that makes a tickle rise in Victor’s throat and his lungs drop low till they twine and tangle within his guts.

Yuuri leans into Victor’s touch and closes his eyes. A smile naturally slides onto Yuuri’s lips, and Victor feels his chest grow warm.

“Thanks. . .” Yuuri quietly murmurs.

“. . .Is there anything I can do to. . .” Victor bites his lower lip and lets himself get lost in the touch of Yuuri’s skin warm beneath his touch. What is there _to do?_ Ask a fairy godmother to break the curse? Google something that will take away a curse? Two hours ago, Victor didn’t even think such things _existed_. Honestly, he’s still having a hard time believing any of this is happening.

But Yuuri looks at him with those soft eyes, and Victor knows that this is real. Yuuri’s eyes are real, his skin and the rosiness of his cheek is real. And that piggy nose of his is _real_.

“Unless you’re a blueblood, there’s nothing you can do to help me,” Yuuri says with a sigh. He brings his hand up to hold Victor’s touching his cheek, but doesn’t move it away. “If anything, I just want you to do what you have been doing,” Yuuri says with a little laugh. “I never. . .I never had a friend before. I don’t want to ask you to do more than what you’re doing for me now.”

For some reason, the smile that pulls on Victor’s lips feels a little bit too tight.

“Sure, yeah. I. . .yeah,” Victor awkwardly says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Whatever you want, Yuuri. Your happiness is my happiness.”

Yuuri smiles. Then, he leans over to rest his head on Victor’s shoulder. Yuuri never is the one to make the first move, so the sudden weight on Victor’s shoulder catches him by surprise. But he relaxes into the touch, and he feels the tension on his face melt away as pink rises to the front. “Thank you,” Yuuri whispers.

It takes a moment’s hesitation before Victor raises his arm and wraps it around Yuuri’s shoulders, hugging him against him.

“Sure,” Victor whispers. “That’s what friends are for.”

 

* * *

 

“Okay, what is it about ‘Just Yuuri’ this time?”

Victor looks at Christophe out of the corner of his eye, his arms crossed and foot tapping like an expectant mother waiting for her children to come clean.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Victor feigns with a smile they both know is fake.

“You’ve been standing there stocking and unstocking the exact same series for the last thirty minutes. Either you’re moping about your roommate, or you’re bored. And if that’s the case, I have an entire children’s section that could use some sweeping,” Christophe says with a smile, jutting his thumb out to the colorful section behind him.

“It’s nothing.”

“Really?”

“ _Really_ ,” Victor stresses. The fake smile is still on his face, but his voice is clearly stressing ‘I don’t know why I feel like shit right now, so can we just skip this conversation and get back to work?’. Christophe stares for a few seconds, eyebrows turned down in a hard line. But, he shrugs it off and turns to grab a cart of books needing to be restocked in the ‘How-To’ section.

“Whatever it is, you should probably talk to him about it,” Christophe says off-handedly, and walks away before Victor can even make a quip that he doesn’t know what Christophe is talking about or before Victor’s smile threatens to finally drop from his face.

Victor sighs and starts to restock the books again, trying to sort through the mush of pink and grey matter that is his brain swirling with too many thoughts about Yuuri. At first, the thoughts were just him trying to wrap around the idea of the curse and what it means for Yuuri. If he’s always going to be stuck like this and if there is any way that Victor can somehow help break the curse despite not being a blueblood himself.

Then, he starts to think about Yuuri’s parents and what will they do if they find out that Yuuri is currently out and about with Victor. Will they let him stay? Will they try to take him back? He can’t imagine how they must feel right now, knowing their son is missing and not knowing if he’s safe or if he’s hurt or if someone is taking advantage of him. But that is business between Yuuri and his family, and Victor doesn’t want to overstep his boundaries. Deep down, he knows Yuuri is worried about his parents too, but he’s too stubborn to admit it and too determined to cling onto the little bit of freedom that he has.

Then, his mind drifts to _just_ Yuuri. To Yuuri’s lips and his smile and how _badly_ Victor wants to make Yuuri happy. But Yuuri only wants him as a friend. Yuuri only _needs_ him to be a friend which, not that Victor would _ever_ dream of pushing Yuuri into a place where he doesn’t feel comfortable around Victor, but it makes him feel. . . _weird_. It makes him feel like something is pinching at his lungs whenever he says that they’re ‘just friends’. He knows that they’re more than just friends, but he doesn’t understand why they keep using that _word_. Their relationship and what Victor feels for Yuuri is so much more than a simple, platonic friendship.

Yet, he can’t place a word to what he feels when he looks at Yuuri now, what this feeling is that threatens to take him under and drown him till his lungs are filled with nothing but the breath of Yuuri’s name leaving his lips in dream felt sighs.

Wordlessly, he leaves the books stacked on the shelf and trudges past Christophe who is pretending he wasn’t watching from his spot in the ‘How-To’ section.

“I’m going to sweep the children’s section,” Victor mumbles to no one in particular, and continues to the supply closet in the back of the bookstore with a bitter taste on his tongue and Yuuri at the front of his mind.

 

* * *

 

“There’s going to be a ball?” Yuuri asks, looking at a small flyer resting atop the junk mail Victor cleaned out from their mailbox and currently sitting on the coffee table. Victor looks up from his work in unloading the dishes from the dishwasher as Yuuri approaches to show him the flyer. His eyes scan over the gold print and the old artwork they keep recycling for every promotional image for the ball, though he notes the inclusion of a ‘fairy tale’ theme is new this time around. 

“Yeah. It’s part of some old festival thing they do at the end of summer. We usually don’t go to the ball since it’s kind of lame, but the carnival is lots of fun and they sell some _great_ food,” Victor explains. He rinses out a few bowls that still have a little bit of food on them and places them on the counter to dry later, moving onto the utensils.

“It sounds like it would be fun. Do you dress up and everything? Like in the movies?” Yuuri asks. Victor shrugs.

“I guess. You’d look pretty out of place if you show up with something you’d wear to the club,” Victor chuckles. Yuuri moves to stand at Victor’s side, grabbing the towel to start drying off the bowls.

“Can we go? I’ve never been to an actual ball before,” Yuuri says, voice lilted with concealed excitement.

“Of course, solnyshko. It’s not for another two months though, so we have a while,” Victor points out. Yuuri hums, standing up on his toes to place the bowls onto the top shelf in the cupboard. He turns to brace his hands against the countertop, watching Victor place the forks and the knives into the drawer with passive eyes. Victor doesn’t say anything, but he feels his face growing hotter under Yuuri’s gaze. It weirds him out enough for him to abruptly stand upright and look in Yuuri’s direction.

“What is it?” Victor asks. Yuuri rocks onto his heels.

“I was just thinking,” Yuuri quietly answers.

“What about?”

Yuuri’s cheeks flare pink, spreading across the bridge of his pink snout. It’s cute seeing his entire face blush like that instead of the just the ears and what little bit of skin Victor can spot beneath the folds of a scarf or of a medical mask.

“About. . .you. . .and me. . .”

Victor smiles, though his heart starts to quicken in pace in his chest.

“Oh? What about us?”

“. . .Just. . .how long am I going to be with you?” Yuuri asks, drumming his fingertips against the countertop. “I mean. . .soon, you’ll start dating someone. Maybe you’ll get married, maybe you’ll have kids, grow old and stuff. And I. . .I don’t want to force myself into your life and overstay my welcome. And then, I was thinking about how I really want to spend as much time with you as I can and do more things with you. . .and I started to think that I was being selfish trying to hoard you for myself. Then, I started to get upset with myself for thinking stupid again and. . .I don’t know. . .”

“How long do you want to be with me?” Victor asks. Yuuri twines his fingers behind his back, looking up at Victor through his eyelashes.

“I. . .I don’t know. . .as long as you want me to be around you, I guess,” Yuuri says. Victor knows that’s not what he really means, but the quiver of Yuuri’s voice says he’s scared to admit the truth that maybe – just maybe – he wants to linger in Victor’s presence for even longer.

“What if I told you I wanted you to be around me forever?” Victor asks. Yuuri looks at Victor, surprise flashing in his eyes.

“I. . .” he looks back down at their feet, then back up at Victor, then back down like he isn’t sure just _where_ to look now, “I’d think it’d be a waste of your life if you’d want to spend it with me forever. . .constantly worrying about people finding out about my secret. . .you having to look at my face every day-”

“I told you I don’t mind looking at you, Yuuri,” Victor interjects. He _loves_ to look at Yuuri and all the curves of his face and the softness of his lines. But the words stay on Victor’s tongue when he feels a sudden wrack of nerves build in his throat to keep himself quiet.

Yuuri tugs at the bottom of his sweatshirt. “But you’d want to look at someone else for a change, wouldn’t you? You’d get tired of seeing my face. . .there’s so many beautiful people in the world.”

“But there’s more to people than their face. And you’re so much more than your face, Just Yuuri,” Victor says with all sincerity. Yuuri thinks for a moment in silence, worrying his lower lip in between his teeth and Victor watching the way how Yuuri’s teeth suck the reddened bottom lip into his mouth and releases it over and over again. It’s amazing how even the most menial things that Yuuri does puts some kind of magic spell of its own over Victor that makes his head feel light and his body sway in the soles of his sneakers.

“I. . .thank you, Victor. . .if I – if I ever become a burden, then I’ll-”

“You won’t,” Victor cuts Yuuri off before he can even finish that sentence. “You won’t ever be. Out of all the ‘beautiful people’ in the world, there’s no one else I’d rather spend my time growing old with,” Victor says with a smile and Yuuri’s eyes _sparkle_. A lump suddenly forms in Victor’s throat and he strains his neck to clear it, running his tongue over his suddenly dry bottom lip.

Yuuri gives a quiet little chuckle. “Growing old with you. . .I. . .I’d like that,” Yuuri admits, voice barely above a whisper.

Victor feels warmth burn from the inside out. “Yeah, me too.”

 

* * *

 

“I have a crush on him,” Victor says aloud to a tree. Makkachin sits beside him, looking up at his owner wondering if they are going to continue their walk or is Victor having a mental breakdown. Victor rubs his face and gives a deep sigh. “I have a crush on him,” he says again, but for some reason the weird feeling in his chest doesn’t feel any lighter. 

He likes Yuuri. He _knows_ he likes Yuuri a lot. He knows that they’re more than friends, but why does there feel like a line Victor still needs to cross and understand just what is happening between them. He feels weightless when he speaks to Yuuri, when he _looks_ at Yuuri. He feels like he’s drowning and floating at the same time, lost in a sea of emotions that swirl and churn and burn like a fire going past Victor’s control.

He likes Yuuri. He knows that Yuuri isn’t interested in being anything more than friends. He knows that Yuuri doesn’t _like_ Victor in that way and Victor understands. But he doesn’t understand why he feels so. . . _weird_. Why does he feel like his lungs constrict and tighten whenever Yuuri is around him, and whenever Yuuri is happy, Victor’s heart sings hymns that can part the skies and shine down light.

“Victor!” Yuuri’s voice calls from further down the path and Victor turns. Yuuri is rushing up to him with a small red and white checkerboard carton filled up with churro bits covered in cinnamon sugar, whipped cream and syrup. Yuuri stops and holds out the dessert, eyes shining behind the lens of his glasses and smile hidden with the scarf tucked around his face.

“I found a vendor in the park that sells these things and they smelled so good!” Yuuri says with such excitement. He looks down at the fried bread. “Um, let’s see, I think these ones are French vanilla flavored and these ones are a bit more sweeter. But – um – I was thinking that maybe we can share it? I mean, not where anyone can see me, but maybe – I – after our walk?”

Victor smiles, and he feels whatever tension that was festering inside his chest melt away as Yuuri’s hand slips into Victor’s palm.

“Sure, but it might get cold, solnyshko,” Victor says, glancing around. He points over to a tree surrounded by an overgrowth of bushes. “We can eat over there. It has a good enough view that we can keep an eye on Makkachin playing, and no one can see really well what your face looks like,” Victor suggests.

Yuuri gives Victor’s hand a squeeze and nods his head. “Okay, that sounds like a plan,” Yuuri says with a quiet hum, and allows for Victor to lead the way with a gentle pull and sunlight dancing over their skin.

 

* * *

 

Phichit posts on Facebook that he’s going out on a date, the post spammed with emojis and hashtags. Victor doesn't read too much into it, lazily scrolling through the Facebook feed while he nurses beer from his fourth bottle. 

“This movie is pretty bad,” Yuuri mumbles around a handful of popcorn. Makkachin on the floor whines in agreement, and Victor gives a halfhearted shrug. It’s one of the indie movies scraped from the bottom of the barrel of Netflix’s more mediocre titles. If Victor sobers up a little bit, they could go out. Yuuri has yet to go dancing at a club, maybe they can go out and have a nicer dinner than the box of delivery pizza currently sitting on the counter growing cold.

“Is it always like this?” Yuuri asks and Victor glances at him out of the corner of his eye. Yuuri is lounging in some clothes that look one size too big on him. Victor partially thinks that the laundry must have gotten mixed up and Yuuri is wearing one of his older shirts, but he doesn’t bother to try and bring up the theory, just stares at how when Yuuri moves his arm, the shirt slips and reveals the breadth of his collarbone.

“What’s always like this?”

“Finding love,” Yuuri says, tilting his head towards the television set. At the moment, the main couple are tightly embracing each other as a cheesy power ballad plays muffled in the background and the glow of the city lights around the pair make them appear to be standing in a romantic paradise.

Victor gives a scoff. “I wish it were like that. It’s so easy in the movies,” Victor says behind the mouth of his beer bottle.

“Yeah. . .they don’t give any consideration for people that don’t look plain and ugly. How do those kind of people find love? Does it look like this?” Yuuri asks with a gesture of his hand to the couple that is now kissing on screen.

“There’s movies about plain people finding love,” Victor says.

“Well, yeah, I know that. But that’s _Hollywood_ plain. Like they just have no makeup on or they wear dull clothes, easy things that can be fixed to reveal the person to be beautiful all along. But. . .if you have someone like me, who will only transform until _after_ I found someone that loves me, how can that happen?” Yuuri asks.

He slumps in his seat on the couch, eyes cast down to the popcorn in his lap as he gives a forlorn sigh. “It’s weird. I’m so used to getting rejected and people leaving me, that I started to think that I shouldn’t care about meeting someone that will fall in love with me. But. . .I don’t know, I can’t help but think about it sometimes. That it must be nice holding hands with someone. . .kissing someone.”

Victor swallows down a gulp of alcohol and smacks his lips. “Well. . .I could. . .kiss you if you want,” Victor tries to bring up _oh-so casually_ while his heart threatens to leap out of his ribcage.

Yuuri turns to Victor with a wry smile. “Funny, but I don’t want a kiss out of pity,” Yuuri chides.

Victor blinks, then a smile comes onto his face and the driest of laughs slips from his lips.

“Ha-ha. Yeah. Just kidding. We’re friends,” Victor says in a monotone voice and throws the rest of the contents of the beer bottle down his throat. What sets between the two is an awkward silence, at least in Victor’s opinion. The couple on the screen is saying the cliché lines, the classical music score swells with overdramatic emotion and Victor is starting to feel something weird stirring in his gut. Embarrassment? Nerves? For what and _why?_ Victor Nikiforov doesn’t get nervous. Victor Nikiforov doesn’t get easily embarrassed, especially when he doesn’t know what the cause is.

Yet, he feels warm underneath the collar of his shirt and his knee won’t stop bouncing up and down. He’s finding it hard to keep his eyes glued to the screen where the couple resume to suck each other’s face off and ignore how there’s an uncomfortable sweat building in his armpits that's sticky and _gross_.

“What was it like for you?” Yuuri asks, startling Victor out of his internal monologue with a jump.

“Huh?”

“Your first time,” Yuuri clarifies, meeting Victor’s eyes. They stare at each other for a split moment, before Yuuri suddenly flushes red and holds his face.

“I – I mean, I – unless you – I – that’s really awkward. I just – forget I said anything –”

“N-No! It’s. . .it’s okay,” Victor coughs out, rubbing his neck. He needs a distraction from the movie anyways. Some distraction from the thoughts that it’s starting to get too warm in the living room. It may be the alcohol that makes everything hazier in Victor’s vision, but Yuuri is crystal clear in Victor’s eyes, eyelashes fluttering with hidden intrigue and curiosity.

“My first time. . .it wasn’t that spectacular. Not how it is in the movies. Everything goes perfect in the movies,” Victor explains with a little chuckle that Yuuri eases his shoulders at. The oversized shirt slips down more to reveal more of Yuuri’s skin, the lights of the television flickering against it in quick flashes. Victor quickly pulls his eyes away to focus on the clock on the wall directly behind Yuuri, swallowing down a lump that forms out of nowhere down his throat.

“Um. . .it was when I was seventeen, and I got my first car that my uncle and my dad restored. A ninety-three Ram pickup with leather seats and a bit of the paint chipping off on the passenger’s door. I took my boyfriend at the time up to this place that was nice and secluded so we can stargaze and. . .well, one thing led to another,” Victor says with a shrug.

“It was awkward and uncomfortable and we had no idea what we were doing. Like, part of me wanted to stop halfway because I didn’t think I was ready but the other part of me wanted to keep going because we were already up here and we already had our clothes off and I don’t know, I didn’t want to look lame by chickening out,” Victor admits.

“Did it hurt?” Yuuri asks.

Victor shakes his head. “Nah. Well, I mean – it hurt a little since it was my first time and all. Didn’t help that me and my boyfriend argued over who was going to be the one on top and he didn’t try to make it any more comfortable for me. I think we broke up like a week or two after we did it, probably because I laughed at the face he made when he came.”

Yuuri starts to laugh as Victor scrunches his nose, twists his lips into an awkward sneer that bears his teeth, and waggled his eyebrows up and down at an alarming rate till they finally crinkle down at the last second and his lips shape to form an ‘O’.

“You’re awful,” Yuuri laughs with a playful nudge to Victor’s shoulder. Victor laughs along with him, relaxing easily into the cushions of the couch as he breathes out a sigh. Yuuri gives a little smile, scooting closer to Victor ever so subtly. “I bet you had lots of people you’ve loved before,” Yuuri murmurs.

Victor tosses around Yuuri’s words inside his head. “Some, not a lot. They each had their perks and their flaws,” Victor corrects. He gets up to stand on his feet and grab another beer, but sits back down when the room starts to move as he tries to take a step. Victor groans, bringing his hand to his forehead. He promised himself he isn’t going to get drunk around Yuuri again and make him uncomfortable, but there’s already a dizzying buzz soaking into his bones.

“Oh,” Yuuri responds, lightly rubbing his thumb into the side of the popcorn bowl. His snout scrunches in tight as he furrows his eyebrows, thinking about something that Victor has yet to decipher. He pulls his lower lip in between his teeth, the glow of the television outlining the softness in Yuuri’s cheeks that Victor’s eyes trace in slow movements.

Yuuri turns his face back down, staring at Makkachin snuggling against his bare feet. “Do you. . .ever think about your exes?”

Victor blinks. “No? Why would I? There’s a reason they’re _exes_.”

“Well, I just. . .I never seen you with another person since I moved in with you. You don’t talk about dating or flirting with anyone and. . .well, I don’t know,” Yuuri mumbles, blushing again and a shaky hand going up to straighten glasses that don’t need to be straightened.

Victor wants to say that the only reason he’s never talked about dating or went out on dates or even _considered_ dating is because Yuuri keeps flooding his mind, intruding Victor’s thoughts and twisting them into rose-tinted hues of Yuuri’s smile and his eyes until that is all Victor can focus on. But instead, he reaches to grab some popcorn and shoves a handful that’s too big into his mouth.

“I mean,” Victor’s voice says, partially muffled. He swallows the rest of the food down so he doesn’t choke. “Well. . .it’s not like I don’t think about. . .dating. Wanting to sit with someone. . .touch them. . .that sort of thing. . .but, it’s not like I really sought it out after meeting you. You. . .just being with you is enough for me, I guess.”

He doesn’t know what he’s saying. Victor’s words are slipping from his mouth without any purpose or meaning, buzzed ramblings that slur at the ends where periods should be. It’s a mess; Victor should just call it a night before he says something that he’s going to regret. But Yuuri leans in even closer to Victor with those eyes blinking up at him, _forcing_ Victor to remain planted in the seat of the couch and stare right back.

“But I’m just your roommate. We can’t do the same things that couples do,” Yuuri points out. His voice is so quiet, like he’s wondering if he’s treading over some invisible line Victor doesn’t recall drawing. Yet, it’s oh-so inviting and purrs oh-so sweetly in Victor’s ears.

They could be like lovers. They could touch like lovers. Victor could love Yuuri the way he deserves to be loved, with all of Victor’s body and soul and breath. Victor could touch Yuuri the way that he deserves to be touched. Along the softness of his cheeks and run fingers deftly through the locks of Yuuri’s hair. He’d kiss over his lips, down the jugular of Yuuri’s throat and nip lightly over his collarbone, down his chest and over the flesh of his stomach. He wants to move down between Yuuri’s thighs, place his mouth on Yuuri and taste every drop that beads over his skin. He wants to feel Yuuri against him, he wants to feel Yuuri’s warmth and every natural quake and quiver of his body or his mouth or tremble of his hands. He wants to know every inch of Yuuri in all the ways a lover would.

. . .He wants Yuuri.

. . .He _wants_ Yuuri.

. . .

. . .

. . .

. . .

. . .Oh _shit_.

Yuuri doesn’t notice the way Victor goes rigid with sudden enlightenment, and proceeds to settle against Victor like he is always meant to be in the space between Victor’s arms. He takes the remote from the other side of Victor, changing the movie back to the main menu screen.

“Let’s watch something else,” Yuuri says, scrolling through the list of titles. He gets through the list of Netflix's ‘Top Picks’ for Victor, then goes through the list of comedies and exits out to go to the Pay-Per-View menu, before he bites his lower lip and throws on an awkward smile. “Um. . .so. . .what do you recommend?” Yuuri asks.

“Um, well what are you in the mood for?”

“. . .I’ve never watched a scary movie before?” Yuuri says. Victor gives a low whistle, rubbing his chin.

“Well. . . _Halloween_ is definitely a classic. _Friday the 13 th_, _The Exorcist, The Blair Witch Project_. . .I wouldn’t recommend _Final Destination_. First time I watched that, I was way too paranoid to get on a plane for _months_ ,” Victor admits. Yuuri hums, snuggling against Victor as he hands back the remote.

“Pick a good one then,” Yuuri instructs.

“I don’t want it to be too scary for you,” Victor warns.

“Just pick one. What will a good first horror movie for me?” Yuuri asks. Victor doesn’t really have the time to think about what will be a good horror movie for Yuuri to experience for the first time, for the moment he looks into his eyes, sudden heat fills his face. He’s in love with Yuuri. He’s in _love with Yuuri_. The tightness in his chest that he feels whenever he touches Yuuri, when he looks at Yuuri, when he just hears Yuuri’s voice and see the light spark in his eyes is because he’s hopelessly and madly in _love with Yuuri Katsuki_.

It’s not a crush anymore, Victor realizes.

He loves him.

He’s in love with Yuuri.

A finger gently prods into the top of his head and he glances over at Yuuri staring up at him with those big eyes reflecting the glow of the television.

“Why are you making that face? What are you thinking about?” Yuuri asks quietly.

“. . .I’m just. . .thinking about which movie I’m going to pick that will scare your pants off,”  Victor says with a laugh and a smile that pulls too tight. Yuuri blinks up at him, then rests his head on Victor’s shoulder.

“Surprise me then,” Yuuri sleepily murmurs. He gives a yawn, but keeps his eyes firmly locked onto the television screen. Victor just clicks on a movie without even paying much attention to what he’s clicking on, too focused on how the lights shine and reflect over Yuuri’s face.

He’s in love with Yuuri.

He’s in love with Yuuri Katsuki.

Yuuri falls asleep against Victor on the couch halfway through the film, and all Victor can repeat over and over in his mind is ‘ _shit_ ’.

 

* * *

 

“Have you ever thought about cutting it off?” Victor asks Sunday morning when he has the day to himself. He’s eying Yuuri’s nose and the way it scrunches pink and cute. Yuuri looks up from his breakfast of porridge with a side of bacon – Victor got a thorough chewing out from Yuuri at the supermarket that just because he has a pig nose doesn’t mean that he has to ban pork for as long as Yuuri lives with him – and twists his lips into a sigh. 

“My parents thought of it. Trust me, they thought of _everything_ ,” Yuuri says.

Victor leans in close. “And?”

“My carotid artery runs through the snout, so if they cut it off, I die,” Yuuri explains. Victor bites the inside of his cheek and huffs.

“Well, there has to be _some_ other way-”

“For you to break the spell? There isn’t. I have to be loved by one of my own kind, there isn’t any other way around it,” Yuuri says. His words are bitter on his tongue, tired and filled with self-contempt. Victor honestly feels the same bitterness seeping into his skin from the inconvenience of it all as well, so desperate to try and help Yuuri become happy and feeling _useless_.

Yuuri sighs and takes a bite of his food. “But I don’t want to talk about that. Let’s figure out what we’re going to do today,” Yuuri says and hums. “Let’s see. I’ve never been to an amusement park, I’ve never been roller skating, I’ve never seen a theatre show and we still need to go dancing. So, I think if we leave right now, we can manage to cram everything in at once.”

Victor chuckles. “We should make a day out of each one, solnyshko. So, you can better experience it.”

“I know, I know. I just. . .I don’t know how much time I’ll have with you and I want each day to be used to its fullest,” Yuuri says.

“Are you going to be leaving me?” Victor asks with a smile that twitches onto his lips. “Did I do something bad as a roommate?”

“No, no! Nothing like that at all!” Yuuri protests. He drops his hands into his lap, lightly twiddling his thumbs. “I was. . .I was thinking that maybe I should. . .talk to my parents.”

“. . .Oh,” Victor starts out. He scoots his chair in closer. “What made you start thinking about that?”

“. . .Just. . .I know they only mean well for me. . .I promised myself that I would send them a postcard or a phone call to tell them that I’m alright. But when I started having fun with you. . .I just felt so free and alive and I didn’t want to think about them or how they were feeling that I ran away. But I just. . .I started thinking about them and my mom, how she must be worried sick about me and it’s not like they can really rely on the police for help because they’d rather die than expose me as a pig-faced monster. I just can’t stand to live with this guilt,” Yuuri breathes out with a huff.

“I see,” Victor hums.

“Yeah. . .I don’t know what they’re going to say. If they’re going to force me to come back home or. . .or maybe if they see how happy I am, they’ll let me stay with you. M-Maybe I can just argue my case and you can meet them and they’ll see you’re a nice person and I can stay. I don’t - I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to be alone again-” Yuuri starts to breathe heavily and he brings his hands to the center of his chest. Victor quickly wraps arms around Yuuri’s shoulders and pulls him into a tight embrace, burying his nose deep into the locks of Yuuri’s hair. Yuuri smells like Victor’s shampoo, although they bought Yuuri more shampoo earlier in the week.

“Breathe,” Victor whispers against the shell of Yuuri’s ear. He feels hands claw at the back of his shirt, tangling tightly in the fabric. Then, ever so quietly, Yuuri sucks in a breath of air and shakily exhales. Victor rubs small circles in between Yuuri’s shoulder blades, coaxing away the tremors and shudders of anxiety and panic with each tender touch. Yuuri melts in Victor’s grasp, relaxing against him with his face tucking into the crook of Victor’s neck.

“. . .I just,” Yuuri starts after a few minutes of silence, “I just don’t want you to go.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Victor murmurs against the crown of Yuuri’s head. He gives a breathy chuckle. “Remember, we’re going to grow old together and we’re going to do everything that you want to do in life,” Victor says with a smile. One of Yuuri’s hands go to gently clutch at the back of Victor’s shirt.

“Mmm, yeah,” Yuuri murmurs. He’s warm in Victor’s grasp, soft, like this is home and this is his safe haven. Victor’s nose dips down in Yuuri’s hair; nuzzling through it without too much thought going into his actions. Yuuri shifts in his grasp as a hand loosens in Victor’s shirt, tilting his head to look at Victor. Suddenly, he realizes how _close_ they are. Too close. _Far too close._

Makkachin presses against the side of Victor’s leg, startling him and making him jump, which in turns makes _Yuuri_ jump and shy away quickly. Yuuri nearly knocks over his breakfast as Victor’s leg hits the underside of the floor, whirring to turn around at Makkachin sitting there wagging his tail with his leash in his mouth.

Right, the morning walk.

Victor presses on a smile. “Okay, okay, I’m getting up,” Victor chuckles, rubbing his knee when he starts to feel a burn over the joint from banging it against the table. He rises to his feet and gives a little bit of a stretch, before he kneels and attaches the collar to the leash. Victor then turns to look over his shoulder at Yuuri.

“I think I’m going to go to the market after our walk. Is there anything that you need?”

Yuuri shakes his head ‘no’, eyes warm. “Just come back home safe. That will be more than enough,” he whispers, and Victor feels warmth pool in his core.

He gives this bow that is exaggerated with a wave of his hand, yet is princely and draws a little laugh from Yuuri that he tries to hide behind the back of his hand.

“As you wish, my dearest roommate.”

 

* * *

 

Christophe is sipping from his glass of alcohol when Victor plops down on the barstool next to him and confesses, “I’m in love with him.”

Christophe snorts. “Wow, took you _that_ long? He must be serious,” he says with a wry smile. Victor elbows Christophe in the side, then accepts his usual drink order from Christophe’s boyfriend as he slides it over from the other side of the bar. Victor takes a couple of sips, letting the weight of the ice cube sit on his tongue until it melts.

“. . .So?” Christophe pipes up.

“So what?”

“What did he _say_ , Romeo?”

Victor winces. “I. . .I didn’t tell him.”

Christophe places the tips of his fingers to the side of his temple and he gives this _sigh_. It’s a sigh that reminds Victor of Yakov, one that the manager gives when he feels Victor is _trying_ to test his patience.

“How come you didn't tell him?”

“Because. . .he’s. . .it’s complicated.”

“How many months is it going to take for things to _not_ be complicated with ‘Just Yuuri’?” Christophe questions with a raised eyebrow and Victor sighs.

“Well, things _did_ get uncomplicated. . .but now that I realized I’m in love with him, they just got complicated all over again,” Victor mumbles.

“You mean. . .did you finally see underneath his scarf?” Christophe asks. He sounds mildly surprised, almost as if he didn’t expect the other half of Yuuri’s face to even exist. Victor gives a nod of his head, remaining tight-lipped when it’s obvious in Christophe’s eyes that he wants to spill the details that he’s been curious about.

“It’s something really personal between me and him, so I want to just keep it between us,” Victor says. Christophe raises an eyebrow and Victor sighs. “I _know_ it doesn’t make sense but can you just trust me on this one? I know what he looks like, he told me everything, we’re one-hundred percent open with each other on everything now and I know for a _fact_ that he isn’t some random psychopath that I have been living with for these past months.”

Christophe purses his lips, hums, then takes another sip from his glass.

“You aren’t ‘one-hundred percent open’ if he doesn’t know how you truly feel about him,” Christophe corrects. Victor rubs his forehead.

“It’s not going to work out,” Victor says. 

“Why not? If I’m being honest, it seems like he’s really into you.”

“Even if he _is_ into me, we can’t be together,” Victor mutters, thumbing a water drop that beads on the side of his glass.

“What, are you two miraculously related by blood?”

“ _No_. Just. . .there’s. . .it’s. . .his parents,” Victor eventually says.

Christophe blinks. “. . .His _parents_. . .you haven’t told him how you felt because of his _parents_ ,” Christophe repeats. He braces a hand on his knee. “Victor, who _cares?_ ‘Just Yuuri’ is the one that you want to get in bed with, not his _parents_.”

Victor bites the inside of his cheek, feeling mildly frustrated. He briefly wonders if Yuuri has always felt like this, finding that it will be _so_ much easier to just say that he is cursed and things just _don’t work_ the same way that they should, but unable to say it. Victor rests himself against the bar, lazily stroking fingers through the messy fringe of his hair.

“I’m not the kind of person he needs,” Victor answers.

“Says who?”

“Chris, it’s _not_ going to work. I’m. . .” Victor goes silent, and he tries to swallow down a dry lump as he tries to come to. He’s in love with Yuuri. He’s in love with Yuuri and he can’t break the spell. Victor’s not a blueblood. His parents never went to college and Victor barely has something substantial in his savings account. He’s not what Yuuri needs to break the curse and give him a chance at a normal life.

He’s. . .’Just Victor’.

‘Just Victor’ can’t do shit for Yuuri Katsuki, rich and well-off and only needs someone that’s just like him to have as a lover. ‘Just Victor’ can’t make Yuuri _truly_ happy. ‘Just Victor’ can love Yuuri with every inch and every pore of his body, but it will never be enough to finally break the curse.

He brings a hand to his chest, and briefly wonders when did it start to feel like someone gouged his heart out with a blunt knife.

“. . .You going to be okay?” Christophe asks. His voice is quiet and pensive, taking in what he is observing in mild interest and speaking in a hushed whisper. Victor’s response isn’t quick, but he eventually nods his head up and down. He takes another drink, forcing on a smile because that is all he can really do. It doesn’t make Christophe seem any less concerned, nor does it hide the shitty feeling that sits in Victor’s stomach like a rock.

But for now, Victor pretends it does.

 

* * *

 

“It’s really hot today,” Yuuri mumbles, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand as he tightens the scarf around the lower half of his face. Victor looks at the younger man with worry in his eyes, resting a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder when he notices him sway from side to side. 

“You shouldn’t have dressed so warm today, solnyshko,” Victor murmurs. They still have a little ways to walk until they reach their picnic in the park spontaneously arranged by Phichit, and even then Yuuri will still be out in the hot sun. Victor bites his lower lip at the thought of Yuuri getting sick again, worry sinking low into his gut. “Maybe we should tell Phichit we can’t come-”

Yuuri leans a little bit of his weight on Victor, a sweaty hand tangling messy with Victor’s fingers.

“I’m. . .I’m fine. I never went on a picnic before. I. . .I want to go on a picnic,” Yuuri slurs. Walking to the side of him, Makkachin steps close to Yuuri, his leash dangling loose in Yuuri’s other grip.

“. . .We’ll find someplace cool for you to rest at, okay? Just hold on,” Victor says. Yuuri doesn’t say anything back, just staggers and bobs along with Victor and Makkachin as they approach the park and slowly make their way down the winding dirt path that ebbs between trees that offer little to no shade. Phichit mentioned in the Facebook post that the picnic will be at the most ‘picturesque’ location in the park – near the water fountain sculpture - since he wants to make the photo of him and his friends hanging out his new Twitter banner.

They go up and over hills, curve around bends and circles the edge of the large man-made pond in the center of the park. There’s no vendors on the path, which is both inconvenient and also irritating to Victor since he was hoping that he could buy Yuuri something to drink at _least_. They had shakes earlier, but the ice cream just made Victor even _thirstier_. Makkachin keeps glancing over at the lake, like he either wants to jump in or drink it all up. Frankly, Victor is feeling the same way.

He winds an arm around Yuuri’s torso to help him walk, holding him firm to his side and feeling Yuuri’s body heat radiate outwards. The scarf around Yuuri’s face is loose, and his eyelashes are fluttering with each labored breath. Victor stops when they approach a bench, pulling Yuuri down to sit. Tenderly, he brushes Yuuri’s sweating bangs back, then gently pulls the scarf looser. One of Yuuri’s hands immediately flies upwards to hold the scarf in place.

“No, I’m fine –”

“Yuuri-”

“I’ll take off my jacket,” Yuuri says, pulling the zipper down and peels the outer layer off his body. He’s wearing a long-sleeve shirt underneath, so Victor doubts that just removing the jacket will do much help. Yuuri rubs his hands on his knees, glancing around. “Phichit should be close by. We’re almost there, I’ll be fine the rest of the way.”

“Yuuri, I think we should call a cab and go home. We can always go on a picnic together another day-” Yuuri is already rising to his feet, his jacket tucked in the crook of his arm as he gets a better handle of Makkachin’s leash.

“We’re almost there. I’m fine,” Yuuri reassures. He starts walking down the path before Victor even gets to his feet, and Victor chases after the two to walk side by side. If Yuuri is fatigued, he’s trying his hardest not to show it. He’s keeping his eyes forward and his head held high, not relying on Victor to keep him upright as he takes timid steps down the path. Their hands find each other again as they make their descent down another hill, Victor giving a reassuring squeeze that he’s right here. He doesn’t know why he does it, but he feels like he needs to let Yuuri know. Though he can’t see it, when he feels Yuuri squeeze his hand back, he can visualize the small smile on Yuuri’s lips perfectly.

Makkachin jolts Yuuri forward with a sudden dash before the water fountain comes to Victor’s view. The poodle catches Yuuri off guard and he nearly faceplants into the cement, but manages to keep up as Makkachin runs forward to stick his face into the fountain and take a drink. Yuuri sits down on the edge of the fountain, relishing the water mist that ghosts over his sweaty skin.

“Hey! Victor!” a voice shouts from Victor’s left. Victor turns to look, spotting Christophe flagging him down from a spot located underneath a tree. Seated on a red and white checkerboard blanket sorting through the pile of food is Mila, Sara, and Christophe’s boyfriend.  

Victor gives a glance over at Yuuri and Makkachin, figuring that he will collect them later when they managed to cool off for a bit. He treads over to the group of friends, throwing on a smile that is more genuine than the ones he’s been flashing this week. Christophe glances over at Yuuri at the fountain.

“I can’t believe-”

“Chris-”

“Right, not talking about it,” Christophe says with a handwave and a sigh. Victor waves and says hello to everyone present, then furrows his eyebrows in confusion.

“Where’s Yura and Otabek? And Phichit? He _is_ the one that planned the event in the first place,” Victor asks. Christophe cracks a grin, while Mila gives an over-exaggerated eyeroll.

“Otabek and Yura are almost here. And Phichit is coming with his new _boyfriend_ ,” Mila drawls. Victor hums, glancing to Christophe.

“Is he nice?”

“You don’t know? Phichit’s been talking about him all on Facebook and Twitter,” Christophe points out. Victor gives a sheepish grin and shrugs. He’s had too many things on his plate to really even _think_ about social media, let alone check if one of his friends has recently entered a relationship.

“Who’s the guy then?”

“The lawyer you sloppily made out with at the club that one time,” Christophe answers.

Victor freezes in horror.

Christophe chuckles at Victor’s expression. “Oh come on, don’t make that face. I bet he forgot all about it. And even if he didn’t, you can just apologize when you see him. I just got a text from Phichit saying he’s almost here,” Christophe says with a little grin. Victor’s head immediately whirrs around to look at Yuuri still sitting at the fountain with Makkachin, then wildly turns back to look at Christophe. Mila seems to pick up on Victor’s erratic behavior, since she raises an eyebrow at Victor and tilts her head.

“What’s with you? Did the heat fry your brain?” she asks.

“I just – I – it’s – we need to go. Suddenly. I _just_ remembered that, um, I have to get more food for the picnic!” Victor laughs away.

“We have more than enough food,” Christophe’s boyfriend politely says, displaying the array with a gesture of his hand. Victor starts backing away, laughing at nothing while he tries to map out a quick route out of the park.

“Well, I just – Yuuri has particular eating habits and I just – we’ll be _right_ back so just –”

“Victor, you’re acting weird,” Christophe says, approaching with a frown. Mila and Sara are looking in his direction with confused glances too, and the sweat that rolls down the back of Victor’s neck is caused more by the eyes on him watching him closely than the heat of the beating sun above.

“I’ll be back. We’ll be _right_ back,” Victor says, and he blindly reaches to grab for Yuuri’s hand, pulling him onto his feet. Yuuri awkwardly releases Makkachin’s leash so he can bring his other hand up to his scarf that flows loosely around his face.

“W-What’s going on?” Yuuri stammers. 

“We need to go-”

“But what about the picnic?”

“Solnyshko-”

“Hey everybody! Sorry we’re a little late!”

Oh _no_.

Yuuri immediately tenses in Victor’s hold, Victor seeing Yuuri’s eyes widen with surprise and shock and _horror_. Victor gives a glance over his shoulder, and sees Phichit smiling bright beside the stoic and stiff figure of a man dressed in a suit despite the heat.

“. . .Seung-Gil,” Yuuri breathes. The man beside Phichit twists his lips in response as he locks eyes with Yuuri, then with Victor, then brings a hand to his ear.

“Nishigori,” he starts, “we’re at the park near Fifth Avenue-”

Yuuri breaks away from Victor and starts running down the path opposite of the one they were on. Makkachin’s head perks up from his drink and he gives chase after Yuuri, his leash trailing behind in the wind. Seung-Gil starts to run after Yuuri as well, but Victor finally manages to snap out of his shock and trips the lawyer before he can get in a few steps. That draws a startled yell from Phichit, but Victor is already chasing after Yuuri before he has the chance to explain himself. He ignores Christophe yelling his name as he dashes down the path, heart beating erratically against his chest.

“Yuuri! Yuuri, wait!” Victor shouts, turning a sharp curve when he sees Makkachin disappear behind a tree. There’s a sweat building in his armpits and his shirt is starting to uncomfortably cling to his skin. “Yuuri! Yuuri!”

“Yuuri! Yuuri!” another voice chimes in out of nowhere, sounding much like a woman thoroughly out of breath. Victor halts as a woman dashes into his path, stopping short just before she accidentally collides with him. She’s running barefoot, her heels in her hand and her long brown hair done up in a messy bun. She looks Victor up and down, then purses her lips and furrows her eyebrows.

“Who are _you?_ ” she questions. Victor gives a dry swallow.

“I’m – I’m Victor?” He nervously steps around her, then begins to run when he hears Seung-Gil’s voice shout further down the path behind him, “Minako! Don’t let him get away!”

Victor dodges a hand that reaches out to grab him, picking up the pace as he runs down the path and only hopes that Yuuri didn’t deviate from it. He doesn’t even know where the younger man or Makkachin _are_ ; Victor doesn’t see them further up the path and he doesn’t see any of them in the smaller picnic areas that he runs past. Victor is running towards the west entrance of the park, on the opposite end of the park from where they entered. Is it possible for Yuuri to try and make the attempt to run back to the apartment? It’s not like Yuuri is familiar with the area to know a good place to hide outside of the park. But if Victor turns around now, he’ll run into the crowd he _knows_ is chasing after him either to stop him from reaching Yuuri first, or to demand answers to as what the _hell_ is going on.

“Makkachin?! Yuuri?! Yuuri!” Victor yells, pausing for a moment to gauge his surroundings and where he is. He doesn’t see any footprints or pawprints on the path either, and he doesn’t have the time to inspect more thoroughly because he hears people shouting from behind him, Christophe’s voice mixing in with the noise. Victor feels a cramp in his side and his legs are starting to get sore from sprinting every few seconds, but he still pushes forward and continues to run down the path. He has to find Yuuri. He has to find Yuuri and make sure he’s _safe_. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do about Seung-Gil and his associates, or how he’s going to try and explain away this situation to Christophe and the others. All that matters are _Yuuri_ and protecting _his Yuuri_.

“Yuuri! Yuuri!” Victor shouts over and over again, eyes wildly searching for a billowing scarf or a poodle running loose with his red leash trailing after him. He stubbles only once, catching himself before he falls flat on his face and loses the momentum he’s building in his thighs. He’s breathing hard, sweat now working down his shoulder blades and down his spine. How far did they manage to get? Where is Yuuri? Is he okay? It’s so hot and he’s still wearing all those layers of clothing and he doesn’t do well in _heat_ -

He needs to find him _now_.

Victor finally makes it to the west entrance, spying the busy street filled with cars stuck in traffic at the red light. And there, leaning up against a tree with Makkachin whimpering at his feet, is Yuuri. Besides him, Otabek is trying to keep him upright, while Yuri is angrily trying to yank his helmet off and make a phone call at the same time.

“Yuuri!” Victor calls out as he runs towards the three. Makkachin braces himself on his hind legs, his front paws digging into Yuuri’s thigh.

“Victor! The fuck is wrong with him?!” Yuri screams at Victor, then quickly yells into his cell phone for someone to get an ambulance down here because someone is about to faint and Victor can’t _believe_ how bad this situation has escalated. Yuuri is breathing hard, his face a raw shade of red. He reaches out towards Victor and Victor immediately takes his hand. 

“Yuuri? Yuuri, it’s alright. I’m here. I’m here-”

“Don’t – don’t. . .don’t leave-” Yuuri wheezes. He struggles to clutch Victor’s hand tightly, so Victor does most of the holding and pulls Yuuri into his arms. Yuuri’s scarf goes loose around his face, barely concealing his nose, and his knees begin to buckle.  

“Victor, he can’t breathe. We need to get this stuff off of him,” Otabek says, reaching for Yuuri’s scarf. Yuuri brings a shaky hand to the fabric and smothers it against his face.

“No, no, no,” he whimpers. “I – I’m – I just wanted to. . .the picnic-”

“We’ll still have a picnic. We’ll have as many picnics as you want,” Victor quietly whispers. Yuuri is still breathing hard and he still feels hot against Victor. There’s no shade anywhere in sight, not unless Victor wants to take Yuuri back into the park-

“Victor! Victor!” Christophe’s voice shouts and Victor looks behind him. Christophe and his boyfriend, Sara, Mila and Phichit are approaching, looking just as out of breath and frazzled. Pushing past them are Seung-Gil and the brown-haired woman Victor assumes is Minako. There’s dirt on Seung-Gil’s suit from when Victor tripped him, and the woman looks torn between fretting over Yuuri slowly swaying in Victor’s hold, and glaring at Victor for reasons that he doesn’t yet know.

She goes for the former, reaching out a hand towards Yuuri. “Yuuri, are you alright? Are you okay? Are you hurt? Your parents are on their way _right now_ ,” Minako reassures. Sara steps forward, looking at Yuuri with worried eyes.

“Is he okay? Do we need to call an ambulance?” she asks.

“No. No ambulances,” Seung-Gil quickly says.

“Are you kidding? He’s probably suffering from _heatstroke!_ Victor, get that scarf off of him!” Mila says, already reaching out to take the scarf off herself.

“No! The scarf stays on!” Minako says, stopping Mila’s hand from going any further. Yuuri turns in Victor’s grasp, managing out a strained breath as he tries to step forward. He rocks forward on his toes, then backwards onto his heels. The hand holding his scarf in place falls limp to his side as his eyes roll backwards and his body goes limp. Victor reaches out with a jolt and catches Yuuri into his arms, just before Yuuri can fall to the ground.

Victor falls to his knees with Yuuri in his arms. Then, Yuuri’s scarf slips down and off, and falls to the ground before Victor can catch it.

Victor hears Minako shout ‘no!’ the same time he hears a round of shocked gasps. There’s a crowd beginning to form that is more than just the group of friends, Seung-Gil and Minako. Yuuri’s head lolls to the side, skin flushed and lips parted. Faintly, Victor can hear Yuuri breathing, but it’s shallow and quick.

A shadow casts over the two and Victor looks up to see Phichit kneeling, Christophe close behind him.

“Is. . .Is he going to be okay?” Phichit asks, eyes staring directly at Yuuri’s nose. Defensively, Victor crouches over to shield Yuuri’s face.

“I just. . .we need water. And shade. A-And just. . .” Victor gives a hard swallow and worriedly glances around at all of his friends that don’t know how to make sense of the situation. Christophe looks over at Yuuri and bends down.

“He’s going to be okay. Let’s get him somewhere cool quick,” Christophe says, grabbing hold of Yuuri’s legs to lift him up. Victor follows suit, rising with Yuuri and supporting his upper half. There’s too many people watching, too many people looking and crowding with their phones out. Minako and Seung-Gil now only look at Yuuri with worry, like something precious to them is now soiled. Victor glances down at Yuuri’s face, the face that he’s been trying so hard to hide away from the world. There’s something sitting in Victor’s stomach and rises on his tongue. Something that tastes like guilt and feels like bile burning at the back of his throat.

Victor doesn’t know what’s going to happen, but he does know he’ll give anything just to make this day disappear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> penelope au but every chapter gets worse OTL


	7. Chapter 7

**_PIG-FACED MAN ADMITTED INTO HOSPITAL FROM HEATSTROKE!_ **

****

**_KATSUKI MYSTERY UNCOVERED: A PIG’S SNOUT!_ **

****

**_YUURI KATSUKI: THE MAN WITH A FACE OF A PIG! SCIENTIST ARE BAFFLED!!_ **

****

**_YUURI KATSUKI SAYS ‘HI’ TO THE WORLD AFTER HOSPITAL RELEASE!_ **

****

“Victor, you can’t get rid of _all_ the magazines,” Christophe points out as Victor forcibly stuffs another cardboard box full of magazines that have Yuuri’s uncovered face plastered all over the front cover like he’s some _animal_ on display to be gawked at. 

“Yes I can and I _will_ ,” Victor says, sealing up one box before he moves onto the next one and tarts throwing in the daily newspaper that has Yuuri’s face printed in black and white with the caption **_Yuuri Katsuki: Pig Prince_**. What do these people even know about Yuuri anyways? They should all be ashamed of themselves harassing Yuuri like this without the slightest bit of decency or concern about how he feels. The image of Yuuri’s face, illuminated by the bright flashing lights of cameras while Seung-Gil and Minako try to hurry him down the steps of the hospital building, Yuuri’s parents trailing closely behind with their heads down, strikes a chord deep in Victor’s chest that feels like a knot threatening to pull his heart out through his throat.

He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what he _can_ do. He hasn’t been able to get in contact with Yuuri since he was whisked away to the hospital and that was two days ago. Yuuri’s belongings are all still in the apartment, untouched by Victor and no one yet coming to try and claim them. What is going to happen? Will Yuuri be forced to stay with his parents forever now? There’s no point in hiding away since the whole world knows about the Katsuki’s secret. . .but what if this just gives them more reason to keep Yuuri away from the outside world that seems more interested in turning this into a juicy little news story?

A hand claps Victor’s shoulder and he jumps, turning to look over and meet Christophe’s eyes. He glances down at the magazine cover, lips curved into a displeased frown.

“So, that’s what he was hiding, huh?” Christophe says. Victor places his palm over Yuuri’s face in reflex, still trying his best to hide a secret that has already been exposed. Christophe sighs at Victor and shakes his head. “Victor, there’s no point. Everyone knows now. There’s nothing you can do.”

Victor looks back at the magazines and the newspaper articles still stacked on the table, tenses when he sees a customer absently reach over to take the top newspaper off a stack Victor has yet to get to and continue on towards the register.

“I. . .I just wanted to help him. And now look what’s happened. People are gawking at him like he’s some kind of freak and I can’t do anything to help him. I feel so. . .so _useless_ ,” Victor grits out through his teeth. Why can’t he help Yuuri? Why can’t he give Yuuri the comfort he _needs?_ He can’t break the curse, now he can’t make these photos and these articles disappear. He can’t take the eyes of the world off Yuuri’s face, he can’t give Yuuri the normal life he so desperately tried to cling to.

He’s useless. He’s ‘Just Victor’.

“Don’t beat yourself up over this. It isn’t something that we were expecting to happen,” Christophe says with a sigh. “Phichit’s new boyfriend sure threw us for a loop.”

“Is he still talking to that asshole?” Victor asks and Christophe smirks.

“Well, yes and no. Phichit chewed him out for what happened with Yuuri and for using him to get to Yuuri. But I also heard that Phichit got a nice little gift from him as well, so I think their relationship is currently up in the air.”

“What kind of present? Hush money to forget this incident ever happened?” Victor questions. Christophe gives a little shrug.

“Maybe half hush money, half ‘I’m sorry, I really _do_ like you but I had an obligation to fulfill first’,” Christophe says. He crosses his arms over his chest, glancing back down at the magazine cover to look at Yuuri’s face for a few seconds, before he turns back to Victor and asks, “So, is his face the reason you haven’t told him your feelings?”

“No. I love him. I love him even with the pig nose. I won’t _ever_ stop loving him. . .but. . .he can’t love me,” Victor mutters. When Christophe remains silent but quirks an eyebrow, Victor continues with a heavy sigh. “It’s a curse. He has to marry someone of his own kind, a blue blood. I’m not a blue blood, therefore he can’t marry me.”

“But what if he loves you back? Sure, he’ll still have the pig nose, but now that the cat’s out of the bag, what is there to hide? You can be together with the pig nose, right?” Christophe asks. Victor turns over the stack of magazines in his hands.

“No. . .that’s not the problem. . .I wish I could talk to him and see if he’s okay.”

“It’s been about two weeks,” Christophe murmurs to himself, thinking. 

“Which means it’s already too many days he’s been away from me,” Victor groans, hugging the magazines to his chest.

“This is a lot they need to go through, Victor. Just give them some time to figure out a plan.”

“What if that plan involves keeping Yuuri away from me for his own good. I mean, what if his parents think I was keeping him held hostage all this time?” Victor asks. For the time being, he continues to pack away the magazines and the newspapers. He knows it's a futile attempt, but he wants to feel like he’s doing _something_ to help Yuuri’s situation a little bit easier to bear.

“Since Phichit’s boyfriend isn’t coming after you with an arrest warrant, I’m sure we can rule that theory out,” Christophe says, watching Victor closely as he begins to pile and fill up another box with Yuuri’s printed image. “Victor. . .if you really love him, you need to go after him. You’re not helping the situation by trying to get rid of all the newspaper articles about him when there’s _hundreds_ more circulating around town,” Christophe says.

Victor knows. Victor knows this is pointless. He knows he’s useless. He knows that he can’t help protect Yuuri’s secret anymore. He knows that the one thing that was supposed to just be between them is now known to strangers that are too ignorant to look past Yuuri’s nose and see how beautiful he truly is. But _god_ , what else can he _do?_ He doesn’t even know where to _look_ for Yuuri or what phone number he can call to reach Yuuri.

He’s pensive, gnawing on the inside of his cheek and clicking his tongue behind his teeth. The newspaper maybe? He could try to call the number they posted when they were looking for Yuuri. But what if they don’t let him talk to Yuuri or think he’s another paparazzo trying to get an interview-

Christophe sighs and shakes his head. “You’re thinking too hard about this,” he drawls.

“Huh?”

“We already have a way of finding out where Yuuri is,” Christophe says, reaching into his back pocket. “We just have to make a phone call to ask someone to do us a little favor.”

 

* * *

 

 

It’s three days later that Phichit texts Victor back with an address and specific instructions to enter the Katsuki premises through the garden gate and to make sure that he is not spotted entering.

 _You actually got the information out of him???_ Is what Victor texts back, already hurrying to stuff his feet into his nearest pair of worn down sneakers and throw on a loose T-shirt he finds discarded on the floor.

 _Wouldn't u like to know ;) now go get our yuuri back_ is what Phichit responds with. Victor smiles, tight pulls at the corners of his lips. There’s something akin to relief that nestles sweetly in his chest and he exhales it out with ease. Yuuri will always be welcome amongst the group of friends, no matter what he looks like or who he is.

Victor maps out the route needed to take to get to the Katsuki estate, relieved that it actually isn’t that far away and is just on the bare outskirts of the city, before he slips the phone into his back pocket. He smooths out his hair, briefly wondering if he should maybe dress more presentably. He’s going in there to ask for Yuuri’s love. . .he’s going to be like those rich suitors in their polished suits and million dollar smiles ready to woo and court a rich socialite that is as beautiful and kind as Yuuri Katsuki.

Victor clicks his tongue, giving his cheeks a little smack and begins to pace around Makkachin’s dog bed where the poodle is lounging. It’s Just Yuuri, it’s Just Yuuri. Yuuri is Yuuri no matter what. Victor can’t ignore these feelings he has for him anymore. He can’t brush it off and pretend through gritting smiles that he is fine with just being friends. He needs to tell Yuuri he loves him. He needs to tell Yuuri that he’s fallen hopelessly in love with him and. . .even though he can’t break the curse, he _badly_ wants Yuuri to feel the same way.

“I can do this,” he mumbles to himself. He looks down at Makkachin, shiny black eyes staring up at Victor in confusion. “I can do this,” he repeats to the poodle, and Makkachin flops over onto his side. Victor nods his head, grateful for the encouragement his canine companion has given him and grabs his keys off the counter. 

“Yuuri Katsuki,” Victor says to himself as he locks up the apartment and hurries down the steps to exit the apartment building and head to the curb where his car is parked, “I’m in love with you. Yuuri Katuski, I’m in _love_ with you.”

Victor repeats the line over and over again as he starts the ignition and pulls away from the curb, glancing at his phone every couple of seconds to make sure that he’s heading on the right course towards the Katsuki estate. He has the AC on, sweltering heat from outside not factoring into the reason for the sweat building on Victor’s brow and against his palm tightly clenching the wheel. He’s not nervous. He’s not nervous. Victor Nikiforov doesn’t get nervous. Victor Nikiforov doesn’t quit. Victor Nikiforov is going to win Yuuri’s heart.

He repeats his confession to Yuuri, he repeats that he can do this, he repeats that he’s not going to quit on Yuuri, and he hums along to a catchy tune that plays on the radio to try and ease away this itch at the base of his spine he can’t quite scratch. A left here, a right there, take this street for so many miles and continue down this path until you have reached your destination on the right. Victor feels his mouth getting drier, tongue heavier and words slowly getting swallowed down his throat as his lips clamp shut even tighter. He’s not nervous. He doesn’t get nervous. He doesn’t quit.

The Katsuki estate has five black cars stationed at the front of its iron gate, locked to keep the outside world out. It’s beautiful and at the same time depressing; there’s a large tree in the front yard with a swing for a small child that looks like it hasn’t been touched in decades. Victor stares at the mansion, sizing it up and stilling the clattering of his jaw. He can do this. He doesn’t quit. He loves Yuuri and dammit, he’s _not going to quit_.

He gets out of his car and quietly circles around the side towards the back of the estate. There’s another gate back here too, just as large and intimidating as the one in the front. There’s also two small dog statues at the base of the intercom mounted into the brick wall. Victor has to squint, but he notices there’s a small slip of paper wedged underneath the paw of one of the statues. He crouches down and barely manages to pull it free without tearing the paper into two, turning it over to see a small note scribbled out in black ink.

 

**_Check mouth_ **

****

“Mouth?” Victor mutters, confused. He cautiously runs his fingertips around the mouth of the stone dog the note was underneath, then dips them inside the mouth and brushes against some metal. It’s hard to fit his hand inside, but he manages to scrape up a set of keys into the palm of his hand. Victor rises to his feet and inserts the key into the lock, turning it and pushing on the gate at the same time.

It swings open with a loud clang and Victor quickly runs inside and locks the gate shut behind him before anyone can be alerted to the back. He shoves the keys into his pocket and briskly walks up the cobblestone path through the garden, flowers smelling sweet in Victor’s nose and sunrays beating down high overhead. The estate seems to get bigger and bigger as Victor approaches the door, even more intimidating and threatening and _screaming_ that Victor doesn’t know what he’s trying to get into and this isn’t the world where he belongs. This isn’t the world where he is the prince charming that saves the day.

“I’m not going to quit. I’m not going to quit,” Victor quickly hisses through his teeth, then gives two short knocks against the door. He waits for a minute or so, stupidly rocking from side to side and checking over his shoulder every few seconds. It’s hot and his shirt is clinging to his skin; when he pushes his fringe back, he grimaces at how sweaty his palm is when he pulls it back.

Suddenly, the door cracks open and Victor jumps in his spot as a steely grey eye glares at him.

“Mr. Nikiforov,” the voice says from behind the door, and Victor recognizes the monotone drawl of Seung-Gil. He bristles for a second, then squares his shoulders.

“Is Yuuri here?”

“Come inside,” Seung-Gil says, all but reaching out and yanking Victor by the wrist inside so he doesn’t spend another second outside where someone could see from the back gate. Victor gets hit in the face with a gust of cool air and he lets out a sigh of relief, wiping his forehead clear of sweat. Victor takes in his surroundings, a cozy little kitchen with a stack of papers resting directly in the middle of the table Seung-Gil is pulling a chair up to. He shoves his hands into his pockets, glancing down the hallway towards the foyer.

“Where’s Yuuri?”

“You need to sign this before you talk to him,” Seung-Gil says, pushing the stack of papers forward.

“What, a gag? It’s a little bit late for that,” Victor says. Seung-Gil readies a pen.

“This isn’t a gag. This is a legal contract that states after today, you will cease further interaction with Yuuri Katsuki. We will reimburse you for your apartment fees and collect his things-”

“I’m not signing that,” Victor says flatly. Seung-Gil sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I should have known something was amiss when Phichit started responding to my calls again,” Seung-Gil grumbles out between tight lips pursed together, then turns to look at Victor with tired eyes. “This has already been a mess. Twenty-four years of trying to hide this secret gone down the drain in one instant. This family is fragile at the moment, and I’m doing my best to make sure no more unnecessary complications get brought up.”

“So, I’m an ‘unnecessary complication’?” Victor questions.

“Yes,” Seung-Gil answers, pushing the contract forward again. When Victor doesn’t budge an inch, Seung-Gil steeps his fingers. “Mr. Nikiforov, you understand the circumstances around Yuuri’s condition, correct?”

“Yeah.”

“So, you know that you can’t break the curse.” Victor feels his chest flare with heat and tighten, but he tries not to let it show through his tightly clenched smile.

“I know." 

“Yuuri needs to find one of his own kind to love him to break the curse. In the end, you won’t be the person he chooses. Don’t you think this is all fruitless?”

“How about you let Yuuri decide for himself what he wants to do with his life for once?” Victor says through his smile, hands tensing momentarily into fists. Seung-Gil leans back in his chair, raising an eyebrow at Victor.

“This is all for his well-being-”

“But is it what he _wants?_ The reason why he ran away the first time was because he didn’t think the life he had was in his control. Instead of shutting him away again, you could try asking him what he _wants_ ,” Victor says. He turns his eyes to the tips of his sneakers, scuffed and slightly worn out around the edges. “If he doesn’t want to see me anymore, then fine. But I want to hear it from his own mouth, not yours.”

Seung-Gil is quiet, eyes barely having anything like a sparkle or a glimmer of empathy and understanding. He closes his eyes and rubs his face, then sighs and rises to his feet.

“Follow me,” he mutters, adjusting his tie before he turns on the heels of his shiny shoes and strides out of the kitchen area, leaving the contract waiting on the table. Victor doesn’t even glance at the piece of paper as he follows after Seung-Gil, heading out of the kitchen and down the hallway to the foyer and to the large staircase that leads to the second floor of the mansion. As he passes by the small collection of portraits and family photos, Victor bitterly notes that Yuuri isn’t present in any of them. It’s almost as if Yuuri didn’t exist, like Yuuri _shouldn’t_ exist. The sight leaves a bad taste at the tip of Victor’s tongue and burns hotly down his throat as he tries to ignore it.

Victor pauses at the base of the steps when Seung-Gil holds his hand out to stop him. “Please wait here. I’ll have Nishigori escort him down,” Seung-Gil says. Victor nods his head, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Fine by me,” he murmurs, and watches as Seung-Gil trudges up the steps like it’s such a burden to even be _humoring_ Victor’s request. He stands in the large foyer in front of the steps, rocking back and forth on his heels. A different kind of sweat pools at the base of his neck, one that accompanies a tremble that itches down his spine. The ticking of the grandfather clock against the far right wall echoes loudly in Victor’s ears, uncomfortable and grating with each heavy ‘tick’ that sounds more like a ‘thud’. Victor swallows down the lump in his throat, then feels another one form when he hears feet shuffling upstairs.

His eyes turn upwards to the top of the staircase and wait in anticipation. He feels his body grow stiff and his words and breath catch in his lungs when Yuuri’s face appears, staring down at Victor from the stairs. Behind him is another man that isn’t Seung-Gil, but is dressed just as formally. Victor assumes he is the Nishigori Seung-Gil was referring to earlier.

Yuuri is dressed in loose clothing, face uncovered and snout out in the open. Victor doesn’t feel himself move, _can’t_ even bring himself to move. He can’t feel his jaw move to say words, to ask Yuuri if he is alright or blurt out that he is in love with him. His knees are locking tight and his throat is too dry and his hands are growing _too_ sweaty. He’s frozen, stuck, can’t move one single _inch_.

Thankfully, Yuuri does the moving for him.

His eyes widen in shock, then brighten with unshed tears of happiness. Yuuri runs, taking two steps then _three_ at a time down the stairs like he just can’t get to Victor fast enough. He almost trips and falls, managing to catch himself by the banister and help him along. When Yuuri reaches a step, his arms go out and Victor’s arms move at the same time on instinct. Yuuri falls into Victor’s grasp, nearly taking Victor to the ground with him as Victor holds Yuuri against him and his nose dips down into Yuuri’s soft hair. Yuuri doesn’t smell like Victor’s shampoo anymore; he smells like honey and sunflowers, sweet like a dream and warm like Victor is returning home.

“You came back,” Yuuri breathes against Victor’s neck, and Victor can feel a hand tighten in the back of his shirt, needy and wanting.

“Of course I would, solnyshko,” Victor whispers. He takes a moment to hold Yuuri, to remember how Yuuri feels against him and drown deep in their shared warmth.

Yuuri pulls back just a bit, just enough so that Victor can see himself reflected in Yuuri’s eyes. Yuuri’s hands have gone upwards to hold Victor by his shoulders; Victor’s hands have wandered down to hold Yuuri by his waist. Through his eyelashes, Victor can see that there are more people congregating at the top of the stairs, but he doesn’t tear his attention away from Yuuri for one second.

“Victor, I. . .if. . .if you still want me as a roommate. . .I’d be really happy to go home with you,” Yuuri whispers. He averts his eyes to their feet, like somehow Victor is going to say ‘no’ and he’s bracing himself for the heartache. Victor’s hands squeeze Yuuri’s waist, drawing those gentle eyes back up to meet Victor’s.

“Of course I want you home with me,” Victor says. He licks his lips. “Yuuri, I-”

_In the end, you won’t be the person he chooses._

Victor’s words trap in his throat.

Yuuri hugs Victor again, his face against a tendon in Victor’s neck and fingertips deftly moving to thread between the strands of Victor’s hair.

“I missed you too,” Yuuri responds to the statement Victor wasn’t going to say. Victor bites his lower lip along with his confession, and holds Yuuri tighter.

“Yuuri,” a voice quietly speaks up. Victor feels Yuuri turn in his arms and he glances up, spotting a woman now standing at the base of the steps worrying her hands together. She has a softness to her eyes that reminds Victor of Yuuri’s, and there’s a roundness to her figure and curves that Yuuri has inherited. Yuuri’s mother most likely; the resemblance is astounding.

She glances to look at Victor, her expression unreadable, before she looks back at her son in Victor’s arms and bites her lower lip. “. . .Please be safe,” she says to Yuuri, voice barely above a whisper and faint to Victor’s ears. Yuuri pulls away from Victor and crosses the small distance to give his mother a tender hug.

At this, the others that were standing at the top of the staircase now file down the steps towards the two. Nishigori and another woman dressed in a similar uniform, Minako and Seung-Gil, and an older man Victor guesses is Yuuri’s father. They all crowd around Yuuri, holding him and hugging him like they don’t want to let him go. Victor doesn’t say anything, he just stands there and observes quietly with his hands awkwardly shoved into his pockets.

When Yuuri receives his last hug, he pulls away from the group and returns to Victor’s side. One of his hands slip to hold Victor’s wrist and he gives it a squeeze.

“We should go,” Yuuri whispers. Victor doesn’t have time to respond, since Yuuri is already dragging him back towards the way that he came, solemn and quiet. When Victor turns to look over his shoulder at the Katsuki household, he sees them all watching them depart with mixed expressions. Some are worried, some are blank like they don’t believe this is truly happening; Seung-Gil’s expression is dry and cut with frustrated eyebrows. No doubt, he’s still going to be sticking his nose in their business so long as Victor continues to be a ‘hindrance’.

Another squeeze of Yuuri’s hand makes Victor turn to look at the man by his side and his downcast eyes. “Solnyshko?” Victor asks and Yuuri sighs.

“Just. . .I just wanted to be sure you’re here,” Yuuri mutters, cheeks tinting pink. Victor smiles, moving his hand so their fingers tangle together. It’s subtle, but Victor sees Yuuri’s shoulders relax and melt with comfort. He doesn't say anything, figuring that when they're home, they'll talk. They'll talk about everything. They'll talk and Victor will tell him. . .

Yuuri doesn’t turn to look back, just faces forward and walks, pushing open the door that leads to the path and to the garden gate. There doesn’t seem to be any people around the other side of the gate, and Yuuri is sure to open it quietly and usher Victor first out. Victor then feels Yuuri huddle close to his back, face buried between Victor’s shoulder blades and arms wrapping around Victor’s waist.

“Lead me to the car,” Yuuri says into Victor’s shirt, voice muffled. Victor holds Yuuri’s hand and strokes his thumb over the inner part of his wrist.

“Got it,” Victor mutters, and walks along the brick wall towards the front where his car is parked, but out of the paparazzi’s sight.

Victor opens the car door and allows Yuuri to quickly climb inside before he hurries around to the driver’s side. When he climbs in and revs up the engine, two men climb out of one black car with cameras at the ready. Yuuri slumps in his seat and covers his face as best as he can, while Victor resists the urge to mow over the men trying to block their path for a shot of Yuuri.

Victor peels out onto the road and turns wide, pressing his foot on the gas and speeding away before anyone could even get a good look as to who is in the car in the first place. Yuuri's hands fall to rest in his lap and he sighs, looking out the window as buildings roll by.

It's uncomfortably quiet between the two of them, radio playing low in the background.

“. . .Yuuri-" 

“Did they see?” Yuuri interrupts. Victor’s eyebrows quirk in confusion.

“Who?”

“Your friends. At the park,” Yuuri explains. He brings his fingertips to the tip of his snout. “I mean, not that it matters anymore. Everyone knows now, huh?” Yuuri gives a quiet laugh, breathless and hurt. Victor’s grip on the wheel tightens.

“Yuuri, they don’t think any different of you-”

“You don’t have to try and make me feel better-”

“It’s the _truth_ ,” Victor says. “Yuuri, they were worried about you. They wanted to know if you were okay. All they were concerned about was _you_ , not the fact that you have a pig’s nose. And even if they _were_ concerned about the pig’s nose, which they _aren’t_ , it’s none of their business what happened to you. It’s none of any of these people’s business to know what is happening in your life if you don't feel comfortable to share it,” Victor says. Yuuri twiddles his fingers together, biting his lower lip as he tries to find the right words to respond to Victor. After a few seconds, he doesn’t, and turns to look back out the window.

“. . .We’re going to be here for you, Yuuri,” Victor says. His voice is warm and dripping with compassion. “We’re going to be right there beside you and I swear to you, Yuuri, I’m not going to let anyone disrespect you.”

That makes the corners of Yuuri’s lips quirk upwards, glancing over at Victor momentarily. “Like a knight in shining armor, you are willing to defend my honor?” Yuuri asks. Victor wants to do more than that; he wants to fight for Yuuri, fight for Yuuri’s respect and his hand, protect Yuuri from everything ugly and marvel at Yuuri’s beauty. Yuuri chuckles, even softer, and turns his head to look out the window again. “Thank you, Victor. . .for everything,” he speaks as Victor pauses at a stoplight.

Victor feels his words sit on his tongue, not daring to move past his lips. Blindly, he reaches over and takes Yuuri’s hand. Yuuri twines their fingers together instantly and squeezes tight.

 

* * *

 

" _And now, with our latest story. Yuuri Katsuki, a name that is now sweeping the nation and becoming a sensation. Everyone is simply **captivated** by this young man with a nose of a pig. Doctors are wondering if it is possible for someone to be born with animal-_”

 

Click!

 

“ _I think the whole nose thing is pretty cool! In fact, I think I want **my** nose to be done like that!”_

Click!

 

_“Yuuri Katsuki frequents this bookstore. I once saw him with an employee and, in **my** opinion, they seemed to be a little bit **too close** for just friendly customer service. I think it’s so-”_

Click!

 

“ _Tonight at seven, an exclusive interview with Georgi Popovich about his relationship with Yuuri Katsuki as well as details on his new book of poetry said to be inspired by the young socialite!”_

“Honestly, you can’t go one minute without hearing someone talking about him,” Victor murmurs as he hears Christophe’s boyfriend quickly changing the channels to find one that _doesn’t_ feature something about Yuuri. Beside Victor, Christophe gives a small nod.

“How’s he been taking it?”

“Positively. No one’s calling him a monster, not unless they want to be seen as horrible human beings by the public themselves. If anyone does have anything nasty to say about him, they’re not rushing to find a camera to say it to,” Victor whispers. He helps slice up the chicken to drop into the pan, while Christophe begins to cut up the lettuce for the salad.

“And what about you two?” Christophe asks. Victor’s shoulders stiffen, then sag.

“I haven’t told him. . .Chris. . .I think he knows.”

“What makes you think that?” Christophe asks.

“I mean, when I try to tell him, I pull him to the side and look in his eyes and I _try_ to say it, but then he just changes the subject. Or, I can feel him getting tense underneath my hand so then I start to worry that I’m freaking him out and I can’t say anything,” Victor says. Subtly, he takes a glance over his shoulder at Yuuri on the couch, curled up with one of Christophe’s cats and medical mask snug over his face. Victor isn’t sure if Yuuri will take it off to eat, or if Yuuri will feel comfortable eating in front of people other than Victor and Makkachin. But he doesn’t want to press Yuuri to take it off, even when everyone present knows what’s underneath anyways.

“So, what do you think you should do about that?” Christophe asks, rinsing off the lettuce leaves.

“I don’t _know_. I feel like if I tell him, I’m going to get rejected in the end because I can’t break the curse. And if I _don’t_ tell him, I’m just going to feel this ache eat at my chest until it gets to the point where I can’t take it anymore,” Victor says. He sighs again, turning over the chicken in the skillet while Christophe purses his lips together.

“Maybe you should just. . .hint at it. Feel the idea out. Go someplace nice and get him relaxed before you think about asking the question,” Christophe says and then smiles. “Like a date.”

“A date. . .Yuuri’s never been on a date. . .” Victor’s eyes suddenly widen with realization and he beams. “Dancing!” Victor suddenly shouts, and Christophe elbows him in the side when the two heads from the couch turn to look over at Victor with confused eyebrows raised. Victor throws a sheepish grin in Yuuri’s direction and stupidly waves. Yuuri’s eyes crinkle at the corners and he waves back; Victor’s heart feels all a flutter.

When Victor turns his attention back to the chicken in the skillet, there’s a smile on his lips. “We haven’t gone dancing yet. Yuuri’s been wanting to go for a while.”

“Like at that ball thing next month?”

“That too. But I was thinking we find a club that’s not too big and intimidating and we have a couple of drinks and just party,” Victor says. “Maybe we can go this weekend? This Saturday night? Are you free?” Victor asks.

Christophe sighs, pouring the lettuce into a salad bowl and grabs some fixings to toss in as he tilts his head towards his boyfriend. “As much as I would want to, me and him are having dinner with his family. His grandmother who thinks I damned her charming grandson to the depths of hell with my ‘gay powers’ is apparently going to be there, which is going to be _fun_ for me,” Christophe dryly grumbles.

“How about Mila and Sara?”

“Inviting Sara to a club is basically inviting Michele to show up with her, you know.”

Victor winces. “True. . .”

“Phichit might be free,” Christophe suggests. Victor hums, considering it. Phichit might be free, yes. Yuuri is comfortable with Phichit and Phichit _definitely_ knows how to party. His smile gets bigger and bigger on his face as he picture’s Yuuri’s face catching the neon lights of the club and swaying with Victor to a fast-paced beat. Dancing and just having fun, not worrying about anything and just enjoying their time together. That’s all that Yuuri wants, and Victor wants to give it to him.

He gives a nod of his head to no one in particular. “Dancing. We’ll go dancing.”

 

* * *

 

Phichit does turn out to be free on Saturday night and happily knows of a club that matches Victor’s needed requirements to put Yuuri at ease. It’s a small club on the west end of town, on a street that is lined with bars and comedy clubs and hi-rise fashion boutiques for the late-night shopper. It’s not a long wait to get in, though it’s not comfortable with the summer heat heavy in the night air and bunched up close with others waiting in line along with them. 

Yuuri has his lower half of his face covered with a thin scarf, but people already have recognized him in line and are whispering, throwing glances every few seconds. Protective, Victor tries to stand close to somehow block curious eyes from Yuuri’s face, but it just builds more heat between them and gets Yuuri gently pushing at Victor’s chest

“It’s fine,” Yuuri whispers. It’s hard to see his face in the dark, but Victor can see the sparkle in Yuuri’s eyes by the way he looks up at him.

When they get inside the club, the music thumps loudly in Victor’s ear like a heavy drum beats that slogs up his spine in technicolor lights and carries a scent of sweat with it. He reaches for Yuuri’s hand and pulls him close, while some people brush against Yuuri and look at him with raised eyebrows and eyes of surprise shrouded in the dark.

“Stay close to me,” Victor says.

Yuuri squeezes his hand. “Of course.”

They push through the crowd of people, ebbs through the throngs of dancers and ignore the quiet gasps of ‘omg, isn’t that the pig boy?’. This is going to be Yuuri’s special night. Victor’s not going to let anyone ruin this for him. Yuuri’s not going to be someone strangers can point their fingers at and laugh.

“Oh, hey! Hey! Yuuri! Victor!”

Victor hears the voice shouting from his right and he turns, spotting a hand and a bouncing Phichit approaching them. He’s dressed for the nightlife, loose tank top and ripped jeans with cheap glowing bracelets dangling on his wrist and around his neck like precious pearls. Phichit beams at the two of them, then reaches out to take both of Yuuri’s hands into his.

“You look great!” Phichit shouts over the noise of the club and the music. Yuuri’s hands pull away and immediately go to his face and to the thin scarf, like a reflex. Phichit’s expression only falters for a millisecond, before he is back to smiling. “I really like your shoes, Just Yuuri. Those are the glowing ones, yeah?”

“Oh, um,” Yuuri looks down at his shoes that are _not_ glowing. “Um, I don’t know.”

“Yeah, I think they are. You got to – hold on-” Phichit gets down on his knees and takes Yuuri’s foot into his hands. He runs his fingers around the back of Yuuri’s heel and Victor doesn’t know what Phichit pushes, but the bottom of Yuuri’s shoes flash a color of neon blue before they dull into a violet and then transition into a fuchsia. Yuuri gasps, taking a moment to admire his shoes before he turns to look at Victor with wide eyes as if to say, ‘look at these things!’. Victor chuckles.

“Technology, huh?” Victor says. Yuuri nods his head in earnest, turning back to Phichit.

“Thank you!” Yuuri says and Phichit laughs, taking Yuuri by his arm.

“No problem! Come on, let’s go back to our seat. I snagged us all a sweet booth,” Phichit says with a toothy grin. He then proceeds to pull them through the crowd, moving through them with ease and chatting quietly with Yuuri. Victor can’t hear them over the noise, but whatever Phichit is saying to Yuuri draws a twinkle in his eyes that puts Victor at ease. 

That ease is shortly outlived, however, when they get to the booth and find that they are not the only ones with Phichit.

“S-Seung-Gil,” Yuuri stammers. Victor bristles when Seung-Gil glances up from behind the rim of his glass, then averts his eyes downwards.

“I’m not here to spoil your fun,” Seung-Gil says dryly. Phichit moves away from Yuuri to scoot into the booth beside Seung-Gil, wrapping an arm around Seung-Gil’s.

“Yeah, we’re all here for fun,” Phichit says with a smile that doesn’t quiet reach eyes. Victor hums; at least Phichit is aware of the awkwardness hanging in the air between them. Seung-Gil places down his drink, directing a glare in Victor’s direction.

“I would like to speak with Mr. Nikiforov in private, if that is alright?” Seung-Gil asks.

“What do you got to say to me that you can’t say in front of them?” Victor questions. Seung-Gil’s eyebrows twist downwards and he rises from his seat, stepping out of the booth.

“Mr. Nikiforov,” he says, gesturing with his hand to move to the far end of the wall. Yuuri squeezes Victor’s hand, giving him a warm expression with his eyes.

“It’s okay. We can have our first dance later,” Yuuri whispers, voice faint amid the noise. Victor squeezes his hand back, turns to give a glance at Phichit who nods and smiles and ‘It’s okay, I’m going to take care of him’, before he sighs through his nose and follows Seung-Gil begrudgingly through the crowd.

When the reach the back wall, Seung-Gil turns around to face Victor and crosses his arms. For some reason, it just puts Victor on edge, so he hisses out through his smile, “What do you want from me?”.

“Not a hostile tone from you,” Seung-Gil quips back, voice just as agitated. Victor swallows down his spite, hard to do and rough like a rock down his throat, but he does it. Seung-Gil studies him with his eyes, before he too sighs and swallows down his irritancy. He relaxes against the wall, glancing behind Victor in the direction where Phichit and Yuuri are seated.

“Is he okay? This media circus is happening all so quickly. His parents were concerned he was getting swept into it,” Seung-Gil says. Victor relaxes a little bit at that, understanding. Yuuri’s relationship with his parents seems to have stretched even thinner after he left the estate. To Victor’s knowledge, Yuuri’s only spoke to them once over the phone since he left, and the conversation was very brief.

“He’s fine,” Victor answers. “Everybody loves him.”

Seung-Gil narrows his eyes at that. “You’d have to be an idiot to think this sensationalism is acceptance,” the lawyer spits.

“What do you mean by that?”

“None of these people _truly_ accept Yuuri. He’s someone to point and laugh at, someone to like to be considered with the _in-crowd_. I thought you wouldn’t be so naïve to be taking these fake smiles so lightly,” Seung-Gil says. He sighs, briefly running a hand through his hair. “I at first wasn’t sure of your intentions, which is why I drafted that contract.”

“And now?” Victor asks. Seung-Gil hums.

“Now I just think you’re an idiot,” Seung-Gil blurts. Victor feels his smile straining on his face. Seung-Gil ignores Victor’s discomfort and continues. “Yuuri is naïve. He’s book smart, yes, but he doesn’t know about the way of the world. He’s going to get hurt if you parade around with him without taking a bit of caution.”

“I’m _not_ parading around with him. But I’m not going to keep him holed up in our apartment like you want me to either. Why can’t you let _him_ make the choice on how to live _his_ life?” Victor snaps, tone creeping back into defensive.

“He’s free to live his life however he wants now that his secret is out. But that doesn’t mean he’s _ready_ to face the outside world,” Seung-Gil says back.

“That’s why I’m trying to _show_ him the outside world and what it’s like. What it’s like to have _fun_ and have friends and be _normal_.”

“But he’s _not_ , Mr. Nikiforov. He’s different. And this world is going to eat him alive if you choose to ignore that. You and I both know there’s only one way for Yuuri to become like everyone else, and you need to know you’re getting in the way of that,” Seung-Gil says.

The corner of Victor’s smile twitches the same time his right-hand balls into a fist. “No, I’m _not_.”

Seung-Gil slips his hands into the pockets of his pants and sighs. “We care about Yuuri too, and want only the best for him. We _know_ how much pain he’s gone through and how much this curse is hurting him. We want Yuuri to be happy. This happiness that you’re giving him will be short-lived, Mr. Nikiforov. I’m not asking to be your friend and I don’t care if you don’t like me. But Yuuri is going to get hurt if this keeps up.”

Victor gives a rough swallow. Seung-Gil doesn’t bother to wait for Victor’s response. He pushes past Victor and starts to head back to the table. Victor gives himself a moment to smooth out the angry creases in his face and shake out the tension in his bones. When he moves to walk, his footsteps are heavy in the soles of his shoes. He reaches the table just as Seung-Gil mutters out, “Come on, let’s dance,” to Phichit.

Both Phichit and Yuuri are looking at the two of them, studying their faces with pensive eyes. Phichit is the one that speaks up first, shooting a frown at Seung-Gil.

“Did you two fight?” he asks. Seung-Gil holds his hand out and Phichit takes it, allowing the man to pull him to his feet. “You _said_ you weren’t going to fight.”

“We didn’t fight. Are you going to dance with me or not because if we’re not, then we can just go home-” Phichit drags Seung-Gil away to the dancefloor, not letting Seung-Gil finish what he was going to say. Victor watches them go, a bitter taste sitting on his tongue that dissolves with a quiet “Victor?”. He turns to see Yuuri seated at the table, thin scarf pulled down to reveal his face. Victor immediately slides into the booth next to Yuuri, suddenly on edge.

“Hey! Having fun?” Victor says and _god_ , his voice sounds so fake and filled with false cheer. He pinches at the scarf draped around Yuuri’s neck. “You’re not covering your face,” Victor points out. Yuuri nods his head, twiddling his fingers resting over his thighs.

“People approached the table when you two were gone. It’s pretty pointless for me to cover up since everyone knows anyways. Plus, it was getting stuffy in here with it on,” Yuuri says with a sigh. Victor can see out of the corner of his eye that people are looking in their direction. He tries his best to ignore them.

“Are you okay, though? Do you want to go home-”

“No!” Yuuri exclaims, surprised. “We haven’t even _danced_ yet. Or had drinks. Why would we leave so early?” Yuuri asks, then pauses. “. . .Did Seung-Gil say something about me?”

“No. He just – we talked about unimportant stuff.”

“Seung-Gil doesn’t talk about ‘unimportant stuff’,” Yuuri says and frowns. “What did he say?”

“Nothing. It doesn’t have anything to do you.”

“The only reason Seung-Gil would even _want_ to talk to you is if it had to do with me. Victor-”

“Come on, let’s dance,” Victor interrupts, grabbing Yuuri’s hand and pulling him from the booth. Yuuri stumbles over his feet, trying to keep up with Victor as he awkwardly fumbles to a proper standing position.

“But what about the booth?” Yuuri asks worriedly, but Victor isn’t thinking about anything other than keeping Yuuri preoccupied. He doesn’t want to think about Seung-Gil. He doesn’t want to think about Yuuri’s nose. He doesn’t want to think about how maybe all of this _is_ pointless if in the end, Victor can’t bring Yuuri the true happiness of breaking the curse. Maybe this is all short-lived, like fleeting lights that flicker and burn so hot before fizzling out like they never burned at all.

Victor spins around and pulls Yuuri into his arms up against him. The music playing over the heavy thudding bass is too fast and too loud, but for some reason, time seems to slow down. The colors blur all around Yuuri who remains in crystal clear focus. He’s warm in Victor’s arms, soft and firm and real as everything melts around them till they exist in nothing but Just Victor and Just Yuuri.

Yuuri smiles at him. His arms go to hug Victor tight and he rests his head against Victor’s clavicle. Victor dips his nose down into Yuuri’s hair, wills away the last bit of worry he knows will arise when he least wants it to, and breathes in sunshine.

 

* * *

 

Two more suitors come out to talk in an interview broadcasted on daytime television about how they have almost married Yuuri Katsuki. They talk about how it’s such a shame that they have since found love with other people, and that they would have gladly taken Yuuri’s hand in marriage if they had more time to get to know each other. The interview makes Victor want to gouge his eyes out with an ice cream scoop. 

“I can’t believe Yuuri could have married someone like that,” Sara muses to herself, just before she takes the ice cream cone Mila offers her. It’s a Wednesday afternoon and the city streets are fairly empty; few vendors are on the street due to the heat, so it’s a blessing that they managed to find an ice cream cart while the sweltering sun beats overhead.

Victor nods in agreement, glaring at the television set through the window display of the electronic store the ice cream cart is stationed in front of. Behind him, Mila is helping Yuuri to a rainbow deluxe snow cone.

“Excuse me,” Victor catches the vendor saying, “but do you mind if I take a picture? I never had a celebrity come to my stand before!”

Victor internally sighs, while Yuuri awkwardly tries to hold the snow cone in his hands.

“Oh, um, I. . .I guess it’s fine,” he murmurs. The vendor – it’s an elderly man, so Victor feels like he can’t be _too_ irritated – beams wide and fumbles with his phone for a few seconds before he is able to snap a picture of Yuuri holding a snow cone bigger than his head. The vendor laughs and then shakes Yuuri’s hand, topping the snow cone off with extra syrup just because. Yuuri smiles and offers a quiet and polite ‘thank you’, and Victor feels himself melt in an instant.

The interview changes in time as Yuuri turns around to show Victor the frozen treat and Mila comes over with her double scoop cone.

“It’s so colorful,” Yuuri says and takes a bite of it, humming in delight. He then holds it up to Victor’s face, who awkwardly tries to eat some of it without getting his face covered in sticky rainbow syrup.

“Yeah,” Victor says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s great, solnyshko.”

Yuuri nods his head, taking another bite as the small group walk down the sidewalk heading towards nowhere. Sara and Mila start up conversation about summer slowly drawing to an end and plans for school in September. Victor half-listens and watches Yuuri enjoy his snow cone, pink snout scrunching cutely every time Yuuri takes a bite too big and too cold.

Victor feels a sudden nudge to his side and he turns his head, looking at Sara glancing over her shoulder at him with a little smile.

“Did you see Emil’s Facebook invite? The bonfire party at the beach?”

Victor blinks. He hasn’t been on Facebook lately. Too many posts with false facts about Yuuri were being circulated amongst his large group of ‘friends’, and the comments attached to them filled with ignorance irritated Victor even more than the post.

“Ah, no. I haven’t,” he answers, taking another bite of Yuuri’s sno-cone when Yuuri offers it up to Victor again. Sara pouts.

“Well, can you go? I already asked Christophe about it and he said he’s going to be busy. Phichit too.”

Victor hums. Phichit not being there means Seung-Gil isn’t going to be there to make things awkward and uncomfortable and make Victor doubt his competency to make Yuuri happy. At the same time, Yuuri doesn’t know Emil or Emil’s crowd. Emil is a person that makes friends with _everyone_ , which isn’t always a good thing.

Sara turns to look at Yuuri. “You’ve never been to the beach before, right Yuuri?”

Yuuri shakes his head ‘no’, eyes wide with interest. “What are you going to do?” he asks.

“We talk, we drink, we dance, Emil might roast some marshmallows. Everything goes,” Mila says with a lazy drawl. Yuuri nods his head, soaking up every word. He turns to look over at Victor expectantly.

“It sounds like fun,” Yuuri surmises. Victor gives a stiff nod of his head.

“Yeah. . .but Yuuri hasn’t been around that kind of crowd. So, I’m not quite sure-”

“Emil isn’t going to treat Yuuri badly. Plus, Mickey is going to be there,” Sara says, voice just holding a _little_ bit of defensiveness. Victor immediately shakes his head.

“No, I don’t mean them. I mean. . .well, Emil usually invites some rowdy bunches to his parties and. . .maybe we can do it some other time,” Victor clarifies.

“But I want to go,” Yuuri speaks up. He’s looking at Victor with confused eyes, lips turned in a slight pout that makes Victor’s chest feel all a flutter and his stomach knot for all the wrong reasons.

“Emil is the nicest person you could ever meet! Plus, most of the people that say they’re going to show up usually don’t show up anyways. It might be a small turnout and we can tell each other scary ghost stories around the fire,” Sara enthuses. Yuuri’s eyes swell with more wonder and Victor feels a bitter taste filling his mouth, possibly blood since he’s gnawing on his lower lip.

Victor forces on a smile regardless. “But the fact of the matter is they don’t know Yuuri and things might be a little bit uncomfortable-”

“But I _want_ to go,” Yuuri repeats. He pauses in his steps and turns to fully face Victor. “I’m not going to be by myself there, I’m going to be there with you,” Yuuri says with a frown. He turns his gaze downwards to the ground, pensive. “People already know about my face. I know people are going to stare. Even if I cover up, people still are going to look at me,” Yuuri says. “But. . .I still want to spend time with you outside of the apartment. There’s still so many things I haven’t done yet that I want to do with you, Victor.”

Victor’s smile twitches on his face. “And we _will_ , solnyshko. Just. . .I don’t think we should do it right now. Later, okay?”

Yuuri is quiet, eyes not meeting Victor’s. Then, his shoulders sag and he takes a sullen bite of his sno-cone, not offering any to Victor this time around as he continues to walk down the sidewalk. Mila pinches Victor’s wrist, giving a worried glance between Yuuri and Victor.

“Did something happen?” she whispers. Victor immediately shakes his head in denial.

“No, no. Nothing. It’s just. . .I’m just being cautious, okay? We’ll hang out another time. Maybe once this media frenzy has died down,” Victor says. Mila raises an eyebrow at him, her lips parting as if to add something else to the conversation, but bites it back at the last minute. She turns to face forward and continues to eat her ice cream, while Victor observes the length of Yuuri’s eyelashes turned downwards and how their steps fall out of sync.

 

* * *

 

 

“ _But what I’m saying is that back in **my** day, something like this wouldn’t be such a fanatic thing. People like Yuuri Katsuki were paraded around in freakshows for people to point at and laugh. This isn’t any better.”_

_“But his nose seems to captivate younger people for some reason. I think its admirable of him to be in public looking the way he does without seeking some sort of corrective surgery, if it’s even possible.”_

_“It must not be. Who would **choose** to look like that? If I were his parents, I’d have that thing yanked off of him when he was a baby.”_

“Victor?”

Victor jumps in his spot and immediately changes the channel, head whirling around to spot Yuuri coming down the hallway. He has a towel wrapped around his neck and wiping the few remaining water drops from his head after his shower, dressed in a pair of loose fitted sweats and a shirt that has long faded after one too many washes. Yuuri glances over at the television, staring at the screen and the current brightly colored ad for some new fast food burger, before he turns his attention back to Victor with wary eyes. “Um. . .so. . .I was thinking about something we can do for tonight. . .you know. . .having fun.”

Victor tries to not sound to distracted as he gives a laugh that is loud and grating to his ears. He sees Yuuri flinch a little at the sound, as if it hurts him to hear Victor’s voice filled with false cheer. “Ah. . .I haven't really thought of us going out, solnyshko. I feel more like staying home and watching a movie. You still have yet to be subjected to the wonder of the _Star Trek_ series and William Shatner’s questionable acting choices,” Victor says and smiles. “It’s really quite. . .the experience, Just Yuuri.”

“Oh,” Yuuri says, failing to hide his disappointment clear in his voice like a gentle slap to Victor’s face. “Well, Phichit mentioned a coffee bar that offers a discount after nine PM. They have poetry nights. We could go and listen maybe? Minus Seung-Gil?”

“When did Phichit bring that up?”

“At karaoke last week? We left early because people kept crowding around our booth to look inside at me,” Yuuri explains. Victor winces.

“That wasn’t the reason we left early.”

“Then what was the reason?”

“. . .Traffic was bad. I just. . .thought we should head home early to beat traffic,” Victor says. He gently pats the space next to him as an offering for Yuuri to sit down, but Yuuri remains firmly rooted in his spot in the hallway, watching Victor with downturned eyes and a wrinkle of his snout.

“Traffic should be fine tonight. We can go hang out, right? Like bowling? Or dinner out?”

Victor takes too long to respond, smile straining. “. . .Yeah. . .we could hang out,” Victor repeats in a quiet voice with a smile that is small and not Victor at all. What follows next is an awkward beat of silence between them, looming over their heads like a heavy raincloud. Victor clears his throat, and suddenly finds something else to look at other than Yuuri’s disappointed expression while he waits to think up a reason they _shouldn’t_ go now, but can go later.

“. . .If you don’t want to go, then fine. But _I_ should be free to go out if I want to,” Yuuri suddenly speaks, and his tone isn’t quiet and timid anymore. It’s sharper, slightly agitated, usually the type of tone he uses when he thinks that Victor is taking pity on him. It startles Victor for a moment, but he leans in closer from his spot on the couch.

“You _are_ free to go where you want. The whole point of you leaving was so you could live out your life however you want it to,” Victor says. He turns his gaze to the television screen. “I just. . .does it have to be tonight? Can’t we go some other time?”

“When?”

“I don’t know-”

“Then I want to go tonight,” Yuuri states firmly. “Unless. . .you have a problem with me leaving?”

“I don't have a problem,” Victor speaks up, when he _does_ have a problem with Yuuri leaving. Yuuri senses it too, and he tightens his grip on the towel draped around his shoulders. Another beat of awkward silence follows, until the air gets too thick and too tense for Yuuri to breathe that he has to take in a sharp huff of air.

“Okay. . .good then. . .I’ll just. . .get ready-” Yuuri murmurs.

“I’ll get ready too-” Victor starts as he rises from the couch.

“I don’t want you to go if you don’t really want to be there with me-”

“I _do_ want to be there with you-”

“Then why haven’t we been going out places like we were _supposed to_ ,” Yuuri interrupts. His voice rises in volume, a small hiccup of anger that manages to slip through the cracks that he instantly takes back with a quiet, “Sorry”. Victor crosses over to Yuuri as Yuuri wraps arms around himself, face turned towards the ground and flinches when Victor rests gentle hands on Yuuri’s shoulders.

“. . .I’m sorry,” Victor apologizes. Yuuri doesn’t raise his face up to look at him, but gives a quiet sigh.

“Just. . .you meant what you said, right? You. . .you still want me around, right?”

“Of _course_ I do,” Victor says, astonished. “I can’t believe you still think I _wouldn’t_ want to have you by my side.”

Yuuri begins to tangle his fingers in his shirt. “Well. . .us leaving places early and barely hanging out made me feel you thought different,” Yuuri quietly admits. Victor moves his hands from Yuuri’s shoulders to hold Yuuri’s face gently in his hands. Yuuri’s eyes stubbornly refuse to meet Victor’s, a beautifully sad glimmer sinking low in Yuuri’s irises.

“I love having you by my side, Yuuri. . .I just. . .I don’t like how people look at you. I don’t like how people look at you and come to their own judgement about you without even getting to know who you really are. That’s it.”

“So, you think just keeping me here is better?” Yuuri asks, moving Victor’s hands away. “You’ll be no better than my parents then.”

“ _No_ , that isn’t what I meant,” Victor corrects. “Solnyshko, I just. . .I’m trying to look out for you.”

“You’re not my father, Victor,” Yuuri states. Then, like it’s just an afterthought, he quietly murmurs, “You’re not my boyfriend either.”

Victor stiffens, feeling something shoot through his chest like a bullet. The feeling lodges then in his lungs, sledges out through his spine and shoots upwards to stab in the depths of his brain. Yuuri sighs, pulling the towel from around his neck to toss on the back of the couch. He passes by Victor to the coat rack where a scarf hangs on one of the rungs, taking it into his hands to carefully tie around the lower half of his face.

Yuuri pats the side of his thigh and Makkachin’s head immediately perks from his spot on his pet bed. “I’m taking Makkachin for a walk,” Yuuri announces as he already begins to slip on his shoes and grab Makkachin’s leash. He’s opening the door before Victor can try to get a word in or explain these _feelings_ that keep fucking with his head and eat away at his stomach like a painful guilt he can’t swallow down. Victor sees Makkachin scamper out the door afterwards, tail wagging in excitement. Yuuri glances at Victor, finally locking eyes to deliver a message with tired blinks.

_I don’t want to bother you, so I’ll just leave you alone._

With that, Yuuri quietly closes the door shut and Victor is alone.

 

* * *

 

Christophe extended an invitation to Victor and Yuuri to attend a grand opening of a nightclub. It’s one of those ‘Sara knows a guy who knows a guy who knows _another_ guy’ things and was not up for discussion, since when Yuuri dropped by the bookstore to pick up some more things to read and an awkward aura immediately settled over Victor’s shoulders, Christophe placed his hands on his hips and declared, “We’re going to have _fun_ , whether you want it or not.” 

Victor doesn’t.

He doesn’t know what he wants now. All he’s done is _think_. He thinks about how he can break the curse, he thinks about how futile it is because he’s not a blueblood and no number of phone calls to his grandparents to squeeze any information out of them will change that. He thinks about Yuuri, and how many interviews are clogging up the television channels or the articles in gaudy colored magazine prints declaring that there’s someone out there born with fish gills or dog ears. He thinks about the jokes cracked by late night comedians at Yuuri’s expense and the laugher that seems to just _echo_ in Victor’s ear like a haunting reminder that there _are_ people that don’t think the same way. Victor doesn’t want to expose Yuuri to that; he doesn’t want Yuuri to even get the idea that people think of him as the butt of a joke. He just wants to keep Yuuri safe and happy. He _only wants his happiness._

God, he really hates feeling like this. He hates that there’s a bitterness in his mouth where there should be the sweet taste of the alcohol he’s sipping from. He hates that he hears echoes of laughter and Seung-Gil’s voice reminding him over and over that if Victor cared for Yuuri’s happiness, he’d take Yuuri back home. He hates that now he feels like an absolute _hypocrite_ , wanting and wishing to be happy for Yuuri being able to live his life how he wants, and at the same time absolutely _terrified_ of something happening to Yuuri that he could have prevented.

_You’re not my boyfriend either._

Victor groans, dropping his face into his hands.

“Is there something wrong?” he hears Yuuri’s voice ask. Victor glances next to him, seeing Yuuri trying his hardest to keep his eyes on his own drink and not look over at Victor in concern. Christophe is off somewhere on the dancefloor now, dancing and grinding with some strangers and living it up. Victor hasn’t asked Yuuri to dance yet, and Yuuri doesn’t seem too excited to leave from his spot at the bar either. There’s some guy that keeps glancing over in Yuuri’s direction from further down the bar, and Victor is trying to bite his tongue.

“It’s nothing,” Victor responds when he thinks too much silence has passed between them. Yuuri thumbs at a water drop beading down the side of his glass.

“Oh. . .do you want to go home?”

“No,” Victor answers. “. . .Do you?”

Yuuri bites the inside of his cheek, glancing around. “This place is. . .a little bit overwhelming, Is it always this loud in clubs?” he asks. Victor chuckles.

“It’s just because it’s a grand opening. Give it some time for everyone to calm down and it’ll be _modestly_ loud,” Victor answers. He rests his chin in his hand, looking at the throngs of people mashing together in rhythm to the heavy bass beat. “To be honest, I’ve always liked bars more. Sitting around and having a drink while listening to music is more intimate to me.”

Yuuri hums. “Maybe I can go to a bar with you next time. . .I mean. . .if you want-”

“Yeah, we can go to a bar,” Victor answers. “We’re. . .we’re friends. Friends hang out at the bar. We can play darts and pool.”

Yuuri brightens. “Oh! I haven’t played pool in a while!”

Victor smiles lightly. ‘Yeah. Maybe you and me can play a one-on-one. Of course, I’ll be the winner in the end, but-”

“Victor, you _never_ win any of the games we play,” Yuuri laughs. Victor sticks his tongue out at Yuuri, leaning over to give a playful nudge.

“It’s because I’m _such_ a good teacher! My beautiful pupil keeps learning faster than I can teach him which is why he always wins.”

“Oh, so is that your excuse?” Yuuri asks behind his hand, smiling into his palm.

“That’s my theory. My other theory is that you are just naturally great at everything and it was already an unfair matchup to begin with,” Victor says, which draws more laughter out of Yuuri. Victor hadn’t realized just how much he misses Yuuri’s laugh, but he does remember how sweet the tickling warmth that blooms in Victor’s chest when he sees Yuuri smile. He doesn’t ever want that smile to disappear from Yuuri’s lips. Victor wants to be the one that keeps that smile on forever.

Victor gives another glance out at the dancefloor and licks over his lips. “So. . .Yuuri. . .about us-”

“Excuse me,” a voice suddenly cuts in. Victor glances back, and he sees that there’s someone standing beside Yuuri. The guy that was ogling him further down the bar, but now he’s up close and staring. Victor feels a rise of defense shoot up, then embarrassingly tries to calm himself down as the man offers a hand to Yuuri. “I was wondering if you’d like to dance with me?”

Victor studies the man’s face, noting the flush of alcohol over the bridge of his nose and the slight glaze to his eyes. He’s a little bit drunk, but he’s coherent enough to stand and ask Yuuri to dance with him at least. Victor doesn’t say anything as he sees Yuuri’s face light up with a pretty pink hue, then awkwardly fiddle with the buttons of his shirt.

“Um. . .I. . .I’m not the best dancer,” Yuuri offers as the guy’s eyes slide over Yuuri’s frame in slow blinks.

“That’s great, cause I’m not either,” he says. His hand is still held out for Yuuri to take, swaying off-center left and right as he licks whatever remnants of alcohol from his lips with a loud smack of his tongue. Yuuri gives a wary look over his shoulder at Victor, then turns back to the man and let his hand slip prettily into his grasp.

“Um, okay,” he says. The man beams, then throws a wink at Victor that Victor doesn’t know if it’s supposed to be reassuring or mocking or a mixture of both. Maybe moreso the latter since the wink accompanies a cocky little smirk as well and it gets Victor’s blood _boiling_.

He watches them close as they stop just at the edge of the crowd, not fully getting lost in the mess of bodies and arms and glowing lights. Yuuri’s arms awkwardly slide around to hold the man as the man pulls him flush against the front of his body and Victor feels himself tensing in his stool _watching_ them. He forces himself to turn away, back to his drink, and takes the glass in his fist to down it in one gulp.

He’s not Yuuri’s boyfriend.

He’s not Yuuri’s fiancé.

He can’t break the curse and Yuuri will never see him as anything more than a friend, so Victor has no right feeling this possessive jealousy eating away at his heart and filling his mouth like a bile he needs to retch up. It’s not his place to choose how Yuuri lives his life; Yuuri is a grown man. He can live his life the way he pleases to. He can live his life how _he wants_. Victor has done what Yuuri has asked of him, helped and supported him and did whatever he could so Yuuri can feel normal and have a chance at a normal, happy life. He’d do _anything_ for Yuuri’s happiness.

Victor stares at the few bits of ice lingering at the bottom of his glass, wishing to know why does he still even bother to try and hold onto Yuuri so close. Why does he still want Yuuri to be by his side, if he still hears the echoes of laughter and Seung-Gil warning him that this will be all in vain. Is he being selfish? Is he getting in the way of Yuuri’s happiness because _he_ wants to be happy? Another sharp pain shoots in the side of Victor’s temple the same time the bitterness sitting on his tongue gets to be too much.

Victor abruptly rises from his stool and gently pushes through the crowd to head towards the bathroom. It smells like sex and sweat when he manages to get inside the door, and the scent enough is to want to make Victor gag, but he trudges over to the sink to splash a little bit of water over his face to calm himself down.

Victor looks at his reflection in the mirror, his ‘woe is me’ expression and saddened pout, and sighs. If Yuuri doesn’t love him, then it’s fine. Victor wouldn’t dare think of pushing Yuuri into a corner, not after all he’s been through and pushed to the edge by his own family. Victor can love Yuuri in silence, love Yuuri as a friend and whoever Yuuri wants Victor to be. It will be fine. It will be enough.

Victor’s not good enough for Yuuri anyways. Yuuri, who is smart and kind and from a different world that Victor doesn’t belong in, can’t even _see_ himself in. Victor is popcorn bowls and Netflix movie nights. He is fluffy poodles and late night trips to the arcade just to order a half-melted blueberry and cherry slushee. He isn’t a blueblood that sips champagne with pearls as ice cubes, speaks seven different languages, and vacations to places that he can’t even pronounce. He isn’t the prince that rides up on a valiant steed, perfectly perfect in every way, and breaks the wicked witch’s curse with true love’s kiss.

He’s nothing, and that’s fine.

The door to the bathroom opens again, Victor instantly seeing Christophe’s concerned reflection staring back at him.

“I went back to the bar and saw you and Yuuri weren’t there. Are you okay?” Christophe asks. Despite feeling like actual crap, Victor smiles.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he says. Christophe picks up on the tone in Victor’s voice, like he usually does, and changes the topic as he glances around the bathroom area and the closed off stalls.

“Where’s Yuuri?”

“He’s out there dancing with some guy,” Victor says, bracing himself against the sink.

“And you’re okay with that?” Christophe asks. Victor huffs.

“No, but I couldn't say that. We’re not dating and I’m not his father; I can’t make decisions for him just because I don’t like it,” Victor says. Christophe nods his head, crossing his arms over his chest.

“So, I’m guessing you two still haven’t had _the talk_ ,” Christophe says dryly. Victor chuckles.

“No, because I’m already trying to run away before I even get an answer,” Victor says, turning his eyes to the ground. “I can’t change who I am and that lawyer is probably right by saying that I can’t make Yuuri happy and I’m getting in the way of everything,” Victor says. “I’m selfish for wanting him so badly and stupid for not trying to tell him how I really feel. Chris, I love him. I love him _so much_ , but I’m not enough and I just want him _happy_ and I don’t know what to _do_.”

“Victor, you’re not going to start crying in the bathroom of a club, are you?” Christophe asks with a raise of his eyebrow. Victor shakes his head, running a hand over his face and sighs.

“I love him. . .I just want him happy. . .Chris, how do I prove that I will love him unconditionally no matter what? Rain or shine, even if the world is ending and we were the last two people on Earth and I wouldn’t care because I have him and he has me,” Victor asks.

Christophe blinks, then walks in close and leans in to take a small whiff against Victor’s neck. “You don’t _smell_ like you’ve been drinking-”

“Chris, I’m being serious!”

“Victor, you’re rambling. You just need to tell Yuuri your feelings about him. You don’t need to make a wedding proposal out of it,” Christophe says. Victor is about to open his mouth to retort something stupid and irresponsible but _so madly surged with love_ for Yuuri, before someone stumbles into the bathroom with a loud hoot.

Two someones.

“Get off of me!” Yuuri shouts as the man from before shoves him up against the wall, banging into the paper towel dispenser as his hands roam down to squeeze at Yuuri’s behind. The second Victor catches a glimpse of Yuuri’s eyes filled with terror, he’s crossed the space between them and roughly yanks the man off Yuuri and throws him to the ground.

“Ow! The fuck man?!” the guy slurs, cradling his head. Yuuri is trembling, arms wrapped tight around himself as he presses his back against the wall in his attempt to get away. Victor moves to Yuuri’s side, reaching out to touch Yuuri’s face.

“Solnysh-” Yuuri immediately darts into Victor’s arms, burying his face deep into Victor’s collarbone and squeezing his arms tight around Victor’s torso. Victor almost gets knocked off of his feet as he tries to regain his balance and feels Yuuri’s hands desperately clutching at the back of his shirt.

“What did you do to him?” Christophe questions the guy on the ground as he staggers to his feet. He stinks more of alcohol now, and his face is far more flushed and sweaty. He gives a pointed scowl, rubbing his head.

“Nothing! Just wanted to know if he had other piggy parts,” the guy blurts. Victor tenses, eyes growing wide with shock and disgust and _anger_. The guy throws a dirty look in Victor’s direction. “Lighten up, man. It was just a joke,” he spits.

“It was a joke that went too far. Now get out of our sight,” Victor says. The guy clicks his tongue, staggering towards the door and throws a look over his shoulder.

“Whatever. Wouldn’t want to be known as a pig fucker like you anyways,” he barks. Christophe immediately starts after the man and shoves him out of the bathroom, while Yuuri tenses in his hold. They are left alone to a silence that grows thick as Victor’s heart rapidly beats in alarm against his ribcage.

“. . .We shouldn’t have come,” Victor mutters to himself. Yuuri’s hand tightens in the back of his shirt for a split second, then he pulls away from Victor with his head turned down to the ground.

“Can we go home?” Yuuri asks, not looking Victor in the eye.

“Solnyshko, we can still dan-”

“I want to go home. I want to go home right _now_ ,” Yuuri repeats. His shoulders are shaking and his hands are balled up into tight fists. He’s not meeting Victor’s eyes, but Victor can see Yuuri is pulling his lower lip in between his teeth and corners of his eyes are crinkling with embarrassment and shame.

Victor slips his jacket off and hands it to Yuuri, who immediately takes it and places it over his head to shroud his face. When Victor offers his hand for Yuuri to take, he does and moves around Victor so he can hide his face in between Victor’s shoulder blades.

“. . .Solnyshko, did he do anything-”

“He just. . .grabbed me. . .” Yuuri says, voice slightly muffled. He tangles a fist in Victor’s shirt again, pleading for no more questions and to just _leave_.

Victor quietly obliges.

 

* * *

 

“Y-Yuuri, I was wondering if maybe you want to go get some pork cutlet-”

“I’m not hungry.”

 

* * *

 

“Yuuri! There’s a new movie in theaters and maybe you and I can-” 

“I don’t feel like going.”

 

* * *

 

“Yuuri, me and Makkachin are going for a walk in the park and-” 

“Okay. I’ll stay here. Be safe.”

 

* * *

 

Victor is absolutely screwed. 

It’s been two weeks since what happened at the club, and it’s been two weeks of Yuuri avoiding Victor. Dinner is now separate and lonesome and time spent after Victor comes home from work is non-existent. Yuuri has even been avoiding Makkachin, Victor often spotting the dog camping out in front of Yuuri’s closed door in the hopes that Yuuri will come out. In a way, it reminds Victor of the time when they were just getting to know each other, stumbling around each other without any idea who the other person was. It was lonely then as well, but it was something he could manage.

Now, it’s a new loneliness. One that comes with words that echo at the back of Victor’s mind that screech out, ‘you’re incompetent. You can’t help him. You can’t make him happy. He’ll never love you the way that you love him’. To which Victor tries to swallow it down and brush off Yuuri’s rejection like water off a duck’s back, and immediately searches for more activities that Yuuri can do to take his mind off those hurtful words. 

“How about dinner?” Christophe suggests one Friday morning at the bookstore, his hand resting on a small stack of catalogues detailing the fall classes being offered at the local community center down the street. 

Victor hums, unboxing a pack of bags to hang behind the register. “Yeah. . .he went to dinner with his parents last night though, so I don’t think he would want to go to dinner two nights in a row,” Victor explains, taking a handful of bags into his grasp.

Christophe raises a surprised eyebrow. “Did something happen with his parents again?" 

Victor purses his lips. “If something did happen, he didn’t tell me. . .I’m sure he would tell me, though. We tell each other everything,” Victor says. Then, he remises bitterly that he hasn’t held much of a conversation with Yuuri since the evening at the club, and wonders if maybe something _did_ occur at that dinner with his parents that Victor doesn’t know about.

Victor shakes his head. No, he’s getting paranoid. Everything is fine. He and Yuuri will make up and everything will go back to normal soon. Eventually. Hopefully. Ugh.

“You think you two are going to be okay?” Christophe asks. For the first time, Victor doesn’t immediately throw on his plastic smile. He thinks for a second, and wonders if the future he wishes to have with Yuuri is even possible. What can he do to prove his love for Yuuri? What can he say to Yuuri to prove that he _could_ be enough, maybe. What can he say?

Victor’s eyes gloss over to the catalogues Christophe is stacking. An advertisement for the ball is displayed on the cover in fanciful art and golden lettering, announcing that the tickets are now on sale.

. . . 

. . .

 

“That’s it!” Victor suddenly shouts, startling Christophe enough for him to drop the stack he was holding in his hands on the counter.

“Wha-”

“The ball! I’m going to take him dancing to the ball! It’s going to be romantic and he’s going to look so _beautiful_ and then, when they do the fireworks, I’m going to ask him.”

“Ask him _what?_ ”

“Ask him to marry me." 

Christophe blinks. “. . .You _can’t_ be serious,” he finally says after a long beat of silence and a judgmental eyebrow raises upwards.

“It’s the only way for him to see how much I want him in my life. I want him to see how much I

really love him and want to be there for him. I’ll take care of him like a spouse. I’ll do everything that a spouse does and more. Cook, clean, take care of him while he’s sick – Makkachin already loves him and I’m sure nothing will change if we got married. I’ll even do spouse things like rubbing his feet if he asks me-”

“Victor, you haven’t even went on a _date_ with him. Don’t you think maybe you should even tell him you _like him_ before you offer to take his hand in holy matrimony?” Christophe asks.

“Then I’ll take him on a date! Tonight! I’ll surprise him with a dinner and with tickets to the ball! He’s going to be _so_ excited!” Victor enthuses, then quickly glances at his watch. “I should probably head over there now so I can snag any deluxe packages they might be offering for the entire festival. Can you cover for me?” Victor asks as he already starts walking around the counter towards the front door and not wait for Christophe’s response.

“I’d say ‘no’, but you’re already on a mission, Casanova,” Christophe says with a sigh. He’s smiling, however, and his eyes are soft and fond. “However way you manage to tell him, I just wish you luck.”

“Yeah. . .thanks, Chris,” Victor responds back in earnest and smile bright as the sun.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri isn’t home when Victor comes back from work with the tickets tucked away in his pocket in a pretty, golden envelope. There’s a small note on the refrigerator announcing that Yuuri has left to visit his parents again, but will be back at the apartment in the evening and asking Victor not to wait up for him.

It’s fine, Victor thinks. In fact, this gives Victor the perfect amount of time to set up his dinner date with Yuuri.

It’s too short notice to find a restaurant, and frankly Victor doesn’t want people gawking at them while he tries to share an intimate moment with Yuuri anyways. An elegant dinner at home with the right mood lighting and music will work nicely.

He spends about an hour or so googling recipes to cook with the ingredients that he has at home, Makkachin curled up at his feet keeping him company. Victor finally settles on a gratin dish that looks simple enough to make and can be prepared quick enough so dinner will be ready when Yuuri comes home, and dashes off to the kitchen to free his pantry and refrigerator of its ingredients.

He hums, he sings, he smiles as he rehearses what he’s going to say to Yuuri as he cooks and slides around the kitchen in his socks while Makkachin follows after him in hopes of catching some fallen food scraps. His phone dies halfway through him referring to the recipe when he pops it in the oven to bake, so Victor quickly heads to his study to properly print the recipe out as well as maybe compile a quick playlist of music to eat their dinner to.

“This isn’t too much, is it?” Victor asks Makkachin as he pulls up the Internet browser. Makkachin perks his ears up and Victor nods his head. “Right, I can’t dance around this anymore. Either I tell Yuuri, or I don’t tell him. . .god, what this doesn’t work and I scare him away? Maybe I shouldn’t-" 

Makkachin headbutts Victor’s shin, then barks loudly at him and gives a panting smile. Victor is surprised, but he nods his head and sucks in a deep breath. He can’t back down from this. He needs to let Yuuri know how he feels. If he doesn’t, Victor is going to regret it. Stilling his nerve, Victor opens up the search bar and is about to type up the name of the recipe, when his fingertips pause over the keyboard.

In the drop down menu is search terms that he doesn't remember typing and are all centered around Yuuri. ‘Yuuri Katsuki’, ‘Yuuri Katsuki’s face’, ‘Yuuri Katsuki pig monster’. Victor doesn’t remember searching for _any_ of this, nor does he understand why this is in his search history. He doesn’t want to see what results these searches bring up, but there’s something scraping in the back of his skull. A morbid and horrible curiosity that he isn’t sure he will be able to swallow.

He clicks the first link.

The first five hits are trashy online articles that spew the same mindless fanaticism present on the television and in the magazine stands. The sixth link, however, is a chat thread and is a page that Victor apparently visited last Monday. Which is strange since Victor didn’t even have the time to be on the internet.

. . .It can’t be possible that. . .

. . .It _could_ be possible.

He clicks the thread link, and is immediately me with a barrage of comments and online chatter that seems to be growing and spans twelve pages.

 

**Lol why are we even talking about this freak???**

**I bet its some sort of viral marketing for a movie or something. Its not like people actually give a shit about this guy**

**I cant believe those guys in that interview almost got suckered into MARRYING him. Can u imagine waking up to THAT every day**

**^^^^THIS**

**hes got a fat ass like a pig, maybe he squeals like one too ;)**

**id rather die than get stuck having that freak as my spouse**

**lololololololol**

 

Victor immediately exits out of the web browser before he can read anymore, but it isn’t fast enough to get his heart to stop racing against his ribcage and the blood to stop boiling beneath his skin. His jaw is locked tight and he’s gritting down hard on his teeth. He’s breathing, but it’s coming out shallow and quick like he’s hyperventilating. Makkachin senses his mood, since the poodle braces himself up onto his hind legs and rests his front paws against Victor’s thigh, whimpering for him to calm down.

Yuuri. . .

_None of these people truly accept Yuuri. He’s someone to point and laugh at._

_In the end, you won’t be the person he chooses._

Victor brings his hands to his face and grits out a sigh. No, he can’t give up. This should be even _more_ of a reason for Victor to try harder to make Yuuri happy. To make sure that Yuuri never has to see anything like this again. Why do Seung-Gil’s words ring _louder_ in Victor’s head, like a monster steadily approaching and Victor is sitting bait? Why can’t his heart slow down and beat normally for just _one second?_ Victor knows he’s not enough. He knows he’s not good enough. But he just _can’t let Yuuri go_.

Victor sits there, stewing in emotions that he can’t seem to fight back down and gnawing his bottom lip hard enough to have a bitter copper taste rest on his tongue. Victor only gets up when he starts to smell something burning, and he rushes out of his study back to the kitchen to rescue the gratin from becoming a charred heap of sludge. It’s burnt around the edges, but there is enough to salvage at least two portions.

Victor plates the food and moves around the kitchen slower now. He has a bottle of champagne unopened resting in the center of the table, along with two champagne glasses and a scented candle to further get in the romantic mood. He holds off on the music for now, still too wound up to even think about relaxing and just begins to pace around his living room space.

Victor showers up and gets dressed in something not overly formal but not a simple pair of sweats and a loose-fitting shirt. He dots himself with some cologne and fixes up his hair, but there’s nothing he can do to fix the worrying lines appearing on his face by the way his mouth is still pulled in a hard line and his brows crease in thought. He paces around in his bedroom, then the bathroom, then paces around the perimeter of the kitchen before he finally forces himself to sit down at the dinner table and _wait._

He waits.

He waits. 

He waits. 

He watches the candlelight and the wax melt. He watches his food go cold before him and listens to his stomach growl in want. He only gets up to get Makkachin his food – because Makkachin shouldn’t have to be forced to wait for Yuuri to come home to eat as well – and to head to the bathroom to do any more touchups and splash some water on his face to calm himself down.

Victor sits and waits, listening to the quiet tick of the clock hanging on the wall but not looking at the time. He starts to push around the food on his plate with his fork when he starts to get antsy, but doesn’t eat it yet. He takes slow sips from a glass of water when his mouth becomes uncomfortably dry, and sometimes drifts to sleep in his chair, but for only a few seconds before he startles himself awake and resumes listening to the clock.

He doesn’t know what the time is when he hears the lock coming off his front door, doesn’t remember when his leg fell asleep either since when he rises, a sharp pain shoots through his thigh. Yuuri quietly inches himself through the doorway and closes the door shut behind him, glancing over his shoulder to meet Victor’s eyes. His face is covered again from the nose down with a blue scarf. For some reason that makes Victor’s chest ache, Yuuri’s eyes are puffy and rimmed red.

“. . .Why are you awake?” Yuuri asks Victor. His voice is quiet, a tremble more than a whisper. Victor swallows his tongue for a brief moment, then he awkwardly gestures to the cold supper on the table.

“I. . .I wanted to welcome you back home with some dinner,” Victor explains with a smile.

Yuuri approaches the dinner table and stares at his plate of gratin that looks lumpy and gross, paired with a side of steamed frozen vegetables. 

“. . .I already ate,” Yuuri pipes up. Victor doesn’t let his smile fall from his face, but it does get tighter around the corners.

“Oh. Well, that’s fine. I mean, I should have expected so when you said you were visiting your parents,” Victor says with a laugh and rubs the back of his head. Yuuri is still staring at his plate, unmoving. Then, he pulls the chair back to sit down and grabs his fork the same time he lets his scarf slip down from his face to rest around his neck. “Ah, hold on, let me-” Victor takes Yuuri’s plate and his own, moving to place them in the microwave and heat up.

“. . .So. . .is everything okay with your parents?” Victor asks, watching Yuuri out of the corner of his eye. Yuuri doesn’t respond, just keeps his head down low and his shoulders hunched up to his ears. Victor bites the inside of his cheek and pulls the now hot plates from the microwave when the timer ends, carefully placing one in front of Yuuri and sits down across from him with the other. 

Yuuri takes his fork and pushes the food around a little, then cuts himself a piece and eats it.

“. . .It’s good,” he compliments. Victor smiles.

“Great! I’m glad that you like it, solnyshko,” Victor chirps. Yuuri still doesn’t look at Victor, but just quietly eats. After a few seconds of watching him, Victor does the same.

The only sound is the clinks of silverware against the plate and muffled chews. Yuuri turns down Victor’s offer of champagne when he pops the bottle open, so Victor is the only one drinking and letting a bubbly fizz course through his body and warm him up from the inside. Makkachin approaches to rest at the table, but he doesn't make a move to try and jump up to greet Yuuri or beg for some table scraps. The situation is uncomfortable and stilted, and Victor knows something is wrong, but doesn’t know how to bring it up. 

He glances out of the corner of his eye to the coffee table, where the golden envelope still rests atop an unopened bag of microwavable popcorn in the hopes that Victor can maybe talk Yuuri into watching a movie after dinner and presenting the tickets then. 

“. . .Um, Yuuri?” Victor starts off. Yuuri doesn’t look at him, but his fork pauses midair at his name. “I. . .well. . .I was thinking about us. I was thinking about what else I can do for you to make you happy and I was thinking about how much you make _me_ happy and-”

“Don’t,” Yuuri says. His voice cracks and his shoulders tremble as he shakes his head ‘no’. “ _Please_ don’t talk.”

Victor pauses. “. . .Solnyshko, did something happen?”

Yuuri begins to tremble all over, and he puts his fork back down on his plate. Victor rises to his feet, reaching out a hand to rest on Yuuri’s shoulder. “Yuuri, Yuuri, are you o-” 

“I’m getting married.”

Victor freezes in his spot. Yuuri stops trembling and he finally looks up at Victor. His eyes aren’t sparkling like they usually do. They’re dull and empty, glassy like a doll’s and without any sort of life or happiness.

“I’m getting married,” he repeats, voice still cracking. “I. . .a suitor came back and asked for my hand. . .and I accepted.”

“. . .Yuuri that’s. . .I don’t understand,” Victor says. His heart is squeezing like it’s trapped in a vice and his knees feel like they might give out. He can’t breathe. He _really can’t breathe._

“I’m leaving tomorrow morning to return to my family’s estate. It isn’t right for me to live with you now that I’m engaged,” Yuuri says. His voice slips into something that is monotone and robotic and going through the motions, eyes focusing downwards on his half-eaten meal. “So after this evening, I'd like to end our relationship as roommates.” 

“. . .I. . .wow,” Victor croaks. He can't find the words to express the emotions now swirling like a torrent blown out of control. He opens his mouth, closes it, opens again, then closes once more, like a gaping fish beached on the sand. “I don't know what to say,” Victor finally murmurs.

“I don't want you to say anything,” Yuuri quips. “I was hoping that you wouldn't notice me gone-” 

“How would I _not_ notice you not coming home?” Victor asks incredulously. His voice cracks on the last syllable and he purses his lips. Home. This isn't Yuuri's home anymore. Yuuri's leaving. This isn't right. This isn't supposed to be happening.

“I don't want this to be difficult than it already is,” Yuuri says. He rises to his feet. “I should start packing my things-” 

“Do you love them?” Victor asks. Yuuri pauses, eyes regaining a truthful sparkle for one split second, before he turns to look away at something other than Victor’s hurt expression.

“It doesn't matter if I do. It's not needed to break the curse.”

Needed. _Necessary._

“Yuuri,” Victor begins, a soft whisper, “If. . .If I were a blueblood, and I was madly in love with you and would do anything that you would ask of me day or night because all I want is your happiness. . .would you marry me because I’m a blueblood, or because you loved me back?”

Yuuri brings a hand to his mouth, then to his eyes. “Why are you asking me that? It doesn’t matter. You’re not a blueblood so I can’t marry you,” Yuuri croaks. 

“But I-”

“I’m tired of being the pig monster, okay? Don’t try to talk down to me when you’d do the same if you were in my position,” Yuuri accuses, on the defensive. “This is my only chance at becoming normal like everyone else. I just want to be _normal_. And just. . .you don’t have to worry about me anymore, okay? I’m. . .I’m leaving.”

_In the end, you won’t be the person he chooses._

Though it’s hard, Victor takes in a breath. For some reason, he’s smiling. “Right. . .okay. . .it’s your decision.”

“Yeah. It’s my decision that I came to all on my own,” Yuuri says. Victor nods his head, feeling the smile on his face frozen and locked tight. He feels weightless and at the same time like gravity is trying to force him downdowndown into the deepest crater in the Earth’s crust. His eyes avert to Yuuri’s hands, wringing at the bottom of his shirt in that way he does when he’s nervous or he’s thinking. Yuuri doesn’t love him. Yuuri wants to be out of Victor’s life.

Yuuri. . . 

There’s a hand gently pushing his fringe aside, and Yuuri’s confused face comes to Victor’s blurry vision and oh, Victor is crying.

“. . .What is it?” Victor asks, voice a pathetic warble.

“. . .I. . .I never seen you cry before,” Yuuri admits. His voice is filled with that quiet and beautiful wonder that always makes Victor’s heart swell and that just makes the tears fall from Victor’s eyes faster. He pushes Yuuri’s hand away and sucks in a sharp take of air, frustratedly wiping at his eyes.

“I’m just. . .I don’t know how to feel right now.”

He feels angry. He feels sad. He feels confused and hopeless and stupid.

. . .Should he even bother?

“. . .Nothing will change your mind, huh?” Victor asks.

“No,” Yuuri answers, distant.

“. . .Even if I told you I’m in love with you and want to marry you?” Victor asks.

Yuuri stares.

There’s a heavy silence between them, eyes locked and Victor desperately trying to search Yuuri’s for some sort of answer for all of this. Yuuri’s eyes are twinkling with unshed tears and his lips are parted not in a gasp of surprise or shock, but breathless wonder. Beautiful wonder.

Then, Yuuri’s lips twist into an emotionless frown and he averts his eyes.

“Why would you say that, like you’re trying to test me?” Yuuri asks, and there’s no mistake of the hiccup of air that catches the end of that sentence. He pushes past Victor before he can explain himself, ignores Victor’s calls of his name and Makkachin quickly trying to dash after him. Yuuri runs into his bedroom and slams the door shut before Makkachin can worm his way inside, and Victor is alone.

Victor is motionless and stares at the ground, the smile still carved on his lips. Well, he can’t say that he didn’t see this possibly happening. Yet, it still hurts.

Victor cleans up and leaves Makkachin sitting in front of Yuuri’s door. He lies awake in bed and stares at the ceiling. Sometimes, when his eyes dully fall close to a dreamless sleep, he can faintly hear the sound of hiccups and sniffles and cries, before it fades away to silence like there was never a sound at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *POSTS REALLY FAST BEFORE GOING TO WORK*


	8. Chapter 8

Victor cooks a breakfast that consists on pancakes, eggs, six strips of bacon and six sausage patties. He is halfway through cutting up the fruit when he realizes that this is far too much food for only him, and then resigns himself to a brief moment where he thinks about Yuuri and wonders if his ex-roommate is alright.

It's been a week since Yuuri has left, yet Victor is constantly reminded of him every time he passes by the now vacant bedroom. Makkachin constantly paces in and out of the room as if Yuuri will magically appear when he enters, but eventually moves to settle down at Victor’s feet with a sad whine.

Today’s breakfast – filled with carbs and meat and tired chews – is as blearily pointless and depressing as the one yesterday. The only difference is that this morning, Christophe has dropped in announced and is now helping himself to the stack of toaster waffles.

“I thought you liked the chocolate chip kind now,” Christophe brings up, making small talk when Victor eerily doesn’t speak first. Victor brings his mug of coffee to his lips, but doesn’t drink.

“Yuuri is the one that liked the chocolate chip kind,” he explains behind the rim of his mug, staring at nothing. Christophe squares his jaw, then cuts into the waffles and douses it with maple syrup.

“. . .So, he hasn’t called you?” Christophe asks. Victor shakes his head.

“No,” Victor mumbles. He places the mug back down on the table when he doesn’t drink from it and it becomes uncomfortable to hold it in his stiff grip. “There’s an unknown number on my phone that I think is the Katsuki residence. But everytime that I try to make a phone call, no one answers. Which means that either that lawyer or his parents are making sure that I don’t speak with him, or-” Victor pauses, bites the tip of his tongue, then gives a heartbroken sigh and stuffs an English muffin into his mouth.

“. . .Or _he’s_ the one doing the avoiding, huh?” Christophe asks. Victor answers by stuffing another English muffin into his mouth so his jaw distends outwards and the only noise he can make is a sad whimper muffled by doughy bread.

Christophe takes a bite of his toaster waffle before he continues with a raised eyebrow. “What do you think got into him anyways? All this time of him wanting to be independent and free to live his life, then he just throws it all away without any notice,” Christophe asks.

“You should have seen what they wrote about him, Chris. It was awful,” Victor seethes, feeling the disgust sit on his tongue and in his bones like a disgusting ooze. “The one thing he was afraid people would think about him if his secret got exposed and now they’re _laughing_ about it like it’s some kind of joke. He wouldn’t let me see his face for months, and was willing to put himself back out on the streets if I thought he was some disgusting monster. And these _assholes-_ ”

“Yeah, those are assholes saying those awful things, not _you_.”

“But I was acting like I was ashamed of him. Trying to hide him away like his parents did when I thought I was doing better and protecting him,” Victor grits between his teeth and drops his head into his hands. “I got psyched out and I panicked. I chased him away and he’s avoiding me.”

“. . .So, you’re giving up?”

Victor sighs, slumping in his chair. “I don’t know. What more can I do? Yuuri has his sight set on breaking the curse. I can’t do that for him, and if that’s the one thing that will make him happy, I don’t want to get in the way of it,” Victor explains.

“But what if he just _thinks_ that will make him happy? He’s getting _married_. Asking to be with a person till death do they part. He doesn’t even love this other person, yet he’s willing to make that kind of commitment?” Christophe asks. Victor bites the inside of his cheek, glancing down at his untouched food and is quiet.

“The fact of the matter is that neither of you are thinking. Yuuri is rushing off to marry someone he’s not in love with and you’re sitting around feeling sorry for yourself when you should be trying to find him and _talk_ ,” Christophe says bluntly, crossing his arms over his chest. Victor frowns, balling his hands into fists.

“I don’t want to feel sorry for myself. But what can I do? I can’t break the curse and that’s what he wants.”

“Are you _sure_ that’s what he wants?”

Victor groans, rubbing the side of his temple. “It’s too early for you to talk in hypothetical questions,” Victor complains. Christophe rolls his eyes, both men sitting in silence for a brief pause.

“. . .Who’s the person he’s marrying?” Christophe inquires.

“I don’t know. Something with a J. James, Jack – it’s in a magazine. Some snobby rich kid,” Victor says, bringing his fingertips to his temple.

“Well whoever the guy is, does he love Yuuri?”

“Why would he ask for Yuuri’s hand in marriage if he didn’t? Not like he doesn’t know what Yuuri looks like,” Victor says, crossing his arms over his chest with a huff.

“But it’s a suitor that came _back_. Meaning that he was scared away by Yuuri’s appearance before. What was it that made him change his mind?” Christophe says, rubbing his chin. Victor purses his lips, resting his elbows on the surface of the table.

“Maybe. . .he. . .” Victor drops his head into his hands suddenly. He’s starting to get worked up about this and Yuuri _isn’t_ his boyfriend. He knows Yuuri isn’t thinking, but how does Victor know Yuuri is willing to listen to Victor’s concerns? Victor doesn’t have any right choosing how Yuuri wants to live his life. If this is what he wants to do, Victor should let it be and let it happen like Yuuri wants.

So _why?_

 _Why_ can’t his body stop shaking in worry and his head stop aching with thoughts of Yuuri being swallowed up by misery and concern?

He curses under his breath. “What am I supposed to do? I don’t know the guy he’s marrying. That lawyer should be making sure that they aren’t dealing with anyone that won’t break the curse, and if that’s what Yuuri wants and the guy can give it to him, then I’m fine with it,” Victor says. Christophe sighs through his nose and closes his eyes.

Another beat of silence follows, Makkachin slowly curling around Victor’s feet to seek out some sort of comfort that it’s not Yuuri he’s cuddling up to. Eventually, Victor glances at Christophe and drops his hands in his lap.

“Are you and Phichit free on Saturday?” Victor asks. Christophe blinks, then smiles.

“I’m sure I can work something out,” Christophe says with a wink. Victor nods his head, and finally takes a feeble bite of food while something different starts to stir and swirl within his ribcage.

 

* * *

 

“Why is it that whenever you call me and I expect that you forgiven me, _he’s_ the one behind it?”

Phichit smiles around the straw of his milkshake. “Well, we’re still hanging out and I _will_ forgive you if you just do us this little favor really quick,” Phichit says with a little laugh, gently bumping his elbow against Seung-Gil’s arm. Seung-Gil doesn’t bother to register Phichit’s smiling face beside him, only glaring face forward at Victor sitting across the small booth. Christophe nods his head, pointing a stiff fry in Seung-Gil’s direction.

“That’s right. Victor and I will leave you and Phichit alone on your date as soon as we have our info. So, repent and spill the beans.”

“I’m not at liberty to speak with the concerns of the Katsukis or Yuuri. Frankly, it’s none of your business,” Seung-Gil answers flatly.

“The guy that Yuuri is marrying, who is he?” Victor questions.

“You don’t need to know-”

“It’s that Jean-Jacques Leroy guy, right? The one that was on that late night interview that aired Tuesday?” Phichit asks. Seung-Gil is silent for a moment, before he gives an irritated grunt and busies himself with the cufflinks on his suit.

“There. You know the name of Yuuri’s fiancé. Now go away,” Seung-Gil snaps at Victor and Christophe.

“Hold on, I still have more questions-”

“He’s a blueblood, which means that he is able to break the curse. Unlike you,” Seung-Gil says bluntly. Victor smiles, tightening his hands into fists resting over his lap.

“But does he love Yuuri?” Victor asks through his clenched teeth.

Seung-Gil falters for a brief moment, but it’s enough for Victor to feel a low sink of his stomach. Seung-Gil immediately goes back to fiddling with his cufflinks, picking the lint off the sleeves of his suit like it’s more entertaining than humoring Victor’s questions.

“They’re getting married, aren’t they?” Seung-Gil quips in a smart tone.

“But does he _love him?_ ” Victor repeats, stressing his words as he sees Seung-Gil twist his lips in irritancy. “How you’re hesitating to answer makes me think that might not be the case,” Victor points out, suddenly feeling stronger. He squares his shoulders and looks Seung-Gil straight in the eye. “You were saying that I was going to be the one to hurt him, but it looks like you’re doing a good job setting him up with some guy that doesn’t even love-”

“The curse is that Yuuri must be _accepted_ by one of his own. Come the end of August, Mr. Leroy will legally take Yuuri’s hand in marriage and accept him as his husband and the curse will be broken,” Seung-Gil snaps, then pulls his lower lip into his mouth as a spread of pink flushes over the bridge of his nose in frustration from having the information yanked from his mouth.

Christophe questions, “Is that how the curse works?” the same time Phichit exclaims, “The end of August?! That’s only two weeks from now!”

Seung-Gil acknowledges Phichit’s outburst first, clearing his throat as he tries to regain his composure.

“To say we’ve been planning for this moment would be an understatement. The Katsukis have been praying for this day ever since Yuuri was born. And the Leroys want to cash in quickly on the wedding to ensure there aren’t any hiccups, so we agreed it would be best to have a speedy wedding,” Seung-Gil explains.

“Yeah. Best to do it quickly before Yuuri actually starts to consider his actions,” Christophe pipes up. Seung-Gil gives a glare in Christophe’s direction and Christophe leans back into his booth, crossing his arms over his chest and raising an eyebrow. “Listen, I admit that I don’t know much about Yuuri’s situation, but you can’t deny that what you and his parents are doing is wrong.”

“We took care of Yuuri and known him _longer_ than you have-”

“But that doesn’t mean we don’t care about him and are worried about him,” Victor jumps in. “Look, I know you don’t like me and I don’t really like you. But we can both agree that we care about Yuuri’s well-being and want him happy. This _isn’t_ the way to do it,” Victor stresses.

“Then what is? Letting him stay with you? We did that, and he came back _on his own_ ,” Seung-Gil states flatly. Victor winces at that, and Seung-Gil immediately sees an opening. He leans back in his seat, glare intensifying and darkening.

“We only mentioned Mr. Leroy offering to marry him one time and didn’t pressure Yuuri into accepting the proposal. He came back to the estate and accepted _on his own_ . Mr. Nikiforov, he’s waited his _whole life_ for this chance and this is something that _you cannot do for him_. Instead of harassing me for details about Yuuri, how about you do this family a favor and stop sticking your nose into places it doesn’t belong?”

Christophe sighs, slowly rising to his feet. “Okay, this is the part where I have to kick your ass-”

“Okay, how about _everybody_ calm down for a second?” Phichit says, rising to his feet. Seung-Gil pinches the bridge of his nose, getting to his feet despite Phichit’s hand gently trying to keep him seated.

“I don’t have time to be dealing with this,” Seung-Gil grumbles, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. He slips out a fifty and hands it to Phichit, who takes it in his hands with a confused expression. “For your meal _only_ . Next time you call me to hang out, these two _better not_ show up.”

“Nice talking with you too, Mr. Lawyer,” Christophe coos. Seung-Gil ignores him, striding out towards the front door. Victor immediately clambers over Christophe and out of the booth, chasing after Seung-Gil as the lawyer briskly makes his way to his car parked outside of the parlor.

“Wait, I’m not done talking!” Victor shouts.

“Well I _am,_ ” Seung-Gil snaps, unlocking the driver’s seat. Victor immediately worms his way in between Seung-Gil and the door just as he tries to reach and grab the handle.

“Look, I know I’m not a blueblood. I _know_ I’m getting in the way and pissing you off more and more each time you see me, but I _love_ Yuuri. I _care_ about Yuuri. I may not be enough to break the curse and Yuuri might not love me the way that I love him, but I guarantee that whoever this Jack or James Leroy guy is, I love Yuuri _ten times more_ than he does,” Victor says in one go, following Seung-Gil’s erratic movements as he tries to get inside his car.

Seung-Gil tenses again, the flustered pink working its way over Seung-Gil’s face again as he bites at his lower lip. Victor doesn’t shrink away from Seung-Gil’s intense gaze, gritting his jaw tight.

“. . .You _know_ Yuuri’s fiancé isn’t in love with Yuuri, don’t you?”

Seung-Gil glares at Victor, like he’s trying to force Victor to back down with only his gaze and scowl. When Victor doesn’t budge, Seung-Gil straightens his posture and clicks his tongue.

“. . .Like I told you _countless times_ , Yuuri came to this decision on his own and what he wants is the curse to be broken. All we need is Mr. Leroy to accept Yuuri as his husband. Now, if you don't mind, I have business to attend to,” Seung-Gil says, curt and irritated.

Victor remains in his spot, blocking the door for Seung-Gil to get inside the car. Seung-Gil raises his fingertips to the side of his temple. “I’m getting a _headache_ from speaking with you-”

“Is he happy?” Victor asks.

“. . .What?”

“Is. . .Is Yuuri happy?” Victor asks. “I. . .I just want Yuuri to be happy. I’ll leave you and the Katsukis alone. I’ll stay out of your lives for good. I just need to know that Yuuri is happy.”

For the first time, Seung-Gil’s expression softens. Victor doesn’t know if it’s because he finally wore the lawyer down, or if Seung-Gil for once sympathizes with Victor’s feelings. He glances down at their feet, silent for a brief moment, before he exhales a quiet sigh.

“. . .He’s managing,” Seung-Gil answers. He doesn’t meet Victor’s eyes, and his aura shifts to something more somber. Nevertheless, Victor steps aside and allows Seung-Gil to pull open the car door. The lawyer doesn’t immediately get inside his car, however.

“. . .The autumn ball at the end of the month. Are you attending it?” Seung-Gil suddenly asks.

Victor makes a startled noise of confusion, too wrapped up in his own thoughts to properly register Seung-Gil’s question. “I. . .I don’t know. I still have the tickets to go but. . .it was something for me and Yuuri to experience together,” Victor answers. Seung-Gil nods his head and gives a light hum, his expression unreadable as he finally climbs into the driver’s seat and closes the door shut. With a quiet rev of his engine, Seung-Gil pulls away from the curb and Victor watches the car take off down the street. He stands there, stupidly staring at the spot where Seung-Gil’s car once was, before he swallows the lump that suddenly forms in his throat and exhales a breath that doesn’t free his lungs.

Victor trudges back inside the parlor, back to the booth where Christophe and Phichit are sitting, watching him approach with worried eyes. When Victor plops down next to Christophe and bows his head, Christophe rests a hand on Victor’s shoulder.

“What happened?” Christophe asks. Victor doesn't answer right away, turning towards Phichit to give him a soft smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

“Sorry for dragging your date down. . .again,” Victor apologizes.

“That's not important. I’ll work something out with him later. What about you and Yuuri?” Phichit questions. Victor turns his gaze down to his hands resting over his lap and sighs.

“. . .If this is what Yuuri wants, I can’t get in the way of it. No other way to put it,” Victor admits.

“But this isn't _right._ You're the one that loves Yuuri,” Christophe points out. Victor’s hands tense over his lap as he grits out a smile.

“But I'm not the one that can break the curse. Yuuri isn't looking for someone to love him. He just wants someone that can give him a normal life,” Victor admits.

“Then what the hell were those months that you spent together?”

“Guess they weren’t enough,” Victor says with a shrug. He drops his face in his hands. “I don’t want to give up. I don’t want to lose him, but what more can I do if Yuuri doesn't want me to interfere?”

“Ler’s say that. . .Yuuri goes through with this. What if him just getting married isn’t enough? What if there _does_ need to be true love involved like it is in the fairy tales?” Christophe asks.

“Wouldn’t that be a good thing? Yuuri wouldn’t have a reason to stick around with his fiancé then. Maybe he might come back to Victor?” Phichit suggests.

“But if all he wants is to break the curse and it doesn’t work, he’s going to be devastated. What if he _needs_ the curse to be broken? What if I’m not enough?” Victor says. Christophe sighs, bringing his fingertips to his temple.

“We need to hear what Yuuri wants from his own mouth. . .but it would be hard to try and get in contact with Yuuri without going through his family or Phichit’s boyfriend,” Christophe says. Phichit nods his head, humming as he furrows his eyebrows.

“I’ll see what else I can get out of Seung-Gil, but it probably won’t be much. Plus. . .I kind of feel bad that we haven’t gone on a normal date yet,” Phichit admits. Victor’s shoulders sag as he exhales a sigh, giving a solemn shake of his head.

“No, don’t worry about it,” Victor says. He pushes a weak smile on his lips when he sees Christophe’s and Phichit’s confusion, and laughs even though his chest feels too tight to even breathe. “I’m not a blueblood, so I can’t break the curse. I love Yuuri, but even that won’t be enough for him to choose me. I think I should rethink my strategy if there is any chance of me having a chance to win Yuuri’s heart.”

“But we don’t have much _time_ . The wedding is two weeks away and we don't even know the _exact_ date and time. Plus, if they’re in a hurry, they might even consider making the wedding even _earlier_ ,” Christophe points out.

“No. Yuuri isn’t going to allow this wedding to happen any faster than it already is. He’s too cautious,” Victor says and gives an assertive nod of his head. “The deadline will still be the end of August. I’ll try and get in contact with him before then. I’ll go to the estate and demand to see him if I have to,” Victor says.

“And what are you going to say to him if you get the chance to talk to him?” Christophe asks.

Victor shrugs, resting his chin on his hands. “I don’t know. . .but I know whatever I say, I’ll probably only get the chance to say it once. So, I better make sure it’s worth it.”

 

* * *

 

One week passes, and Victor gets to know more about Yuuri’s fiancé.

He’s all over the news media, his name printed in bold eye-catching letters on magazine covers. No matter where Victor turns, Jean-Jacques Leroy is giving an interview about his engagement to Yuuri, cooing to the cameras on how much he _adores_ his fiancé and just can’t _wait_ to be married.

“ _What is your favorite thing about your fiancé?_ ” the interviewer asks, clearly itching to get some deep, personal info about one of Yuuri’s quirks. But it’s always the same; Leroy would give a laugh that is fake at best and nervously strained at worse, before he rambles off a generic answer like ‘ _his personality_ ’ or ‘ _his heart_ ’ without going into any specifics. Victor knows just watching the man on television infuriates him to the point that he can barely sleep, yet he’s firmly planted on the couch watching the interview anyways.

Makkachin sits at Victor’s feet, gnawing on a chew toy that Yuuri had bought him in the past. Sad little wheezes slip out with every pitiful chew; Victor briefly wonders between the two of them, which one is the more heartbroken that Yuuri is gone. Victor rubs at his poodle’s back, trying to comfort as best as he can while he keeps his eyes on the television screen and Leroy’s obnoxious smile.

“ _Well, isn't that just the cutest thing! We're going to go to commercial break for the moment, but when we return, we'll have Yuuri Katsuki join us for an exclusive interview!”_

Victor’s hand tightens into a fist in Makkachin’s curly fur, eliciting a whimper from his dog. Victor immediately apologizes, turning to the television screen as the program cycles through some generic ads for dish detergent soap and prescription medication. This can't be right. Yuuri wouldn't do an interview, and even if he _did_ want people gawking at him, he's sure that Seung-Gil would step in and do something about it. This doesn't make any sense. Victor begins to worry if there's something wrong.

His cell phone buzzes at an inconvenient time, resting too far away over on the kitchen countertop. Victor rises to his feet, trying not to take his eyes off of the screen as he clumsily walks backwards towards the counter. His leg bangs against the corner of the couch; the ball of his heel catches on one of Makkachin’s chew toys, making him temporarily lose his balance.

He snatches the phone off the counter and blindly stabs a button with his thumb, not sure if he disconnected or answered the call until he hears Christophe’s voice on the other line.

“ _Hey! Listen, there’s an interview-”_

“I know, I’m on the channel right now-”

“ _Are you okay?_ ”

“I’m fine,” Victor says. He hears Christophe sigh on the other line, then mumble something to himself that gets lost in the static briefly.

“ _What do you think he’s going to say?_ ”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense for Yuuri to even put himself out there in front of a camera,” Victor says. Stupidly, a fantasy of Yuuri projecting to the entire world that he will _not_ marry Leroy flashes before Victor’s eyes, but he shakes the thought from his head as quickly as it enters.

Victor gets himself seated back on the couch, Makkachin sitting up just as alert as Victor leans in close when he sees the interviewer’s perfect smile turned towards the camera in artificial excitement.

“ _And we’re back!_ ” they announce with a chipper voice, turning with the camera to Leroy, who seems even stiffer compared to how he was earlier in the interview. “ _I’m with the newest couple that has been gaining some buzz. Jean-Jacques Leroy and – a very special treat for our viewers – Yuuri Katsuki!_ ”

The camera pans over to Leroy’s side, Yuuri sitting beside him and not saying a word of acknowledgement. He has a thin scarf wrapped around the lower portion of his face, long eyelashes guarding his eyes cast downwards. His shoulders are sagging, radiating a timidity that Victor hasn’t seen in a long time, not since Yuuri first walked in through the door of his apartment with luggage in tow.

Victor knows he shouldn’t have been surprised with the lack of decency towards Yuuri’s character, but he still gives a scowl when the interviewers asks, “Yuuri, can you show us the nose?”.

Yuuri’s shoulders bow even more, head dipping down further. “ _I’d like to keep my scarf on_ ,” Yuuri responds. The interviewer leans back in their chair, not bothering to mask their disappointment, but still going with the flow of the interview and moves onto the next question as they direct their gaze to Leroy instead.

“ _So, word has it that you two are going to be married quite soon, yes? Care to give us an exact date?_ ”

Leroy gives another one of his stiff smiles. “ _Ah, we’re planning on getting married the morning after the autumn ball._ ”

The interviewer gives a surprised, rehearsed gasp the same time Victor squeezes his phone so tight that he accidentally hangs up on Christophe. “ _Oh my! That’s this Sunday!_ ” the interviewer exclaims, then gives a sly little smile. “ _Ah, but I guess you two lovebirds just can’t keep your hands off of each other_.”

Leroy manages to muster up another fake, forced laugh, while Yuuri still doesn’t respond and keep his eyes on the floral planter decorating the coffee table separating them from the interviewer. The program continues, dotted with awkward touches from Leroy to convey that they _are_ a couple, and the interviewer desperately trying to squeeze more information out of Yuuri aside from the one-word answers. This isn’t Yuuri ‘managing’. This is Yuuri being absolutely _miserable_.

Victor’s cell phone buzzes again in his tight fist. He immediately answers it as he brings it back up to his ear, eyes nearly ready to pop out of their sockets. “Sorry,” he apologizes, already knowing who is on the other line.

“ _It’s okay, I figured the news might have caught you off guard_ ,” Christophe replies, then gives a pitying sigh. “ _This interview is an absolute trainwreck_.”

“I’m more agitated that Phichit’s boyfriend allowed for this to happen,” Victor says as the interviewer fails again to get Yuuri to answer their prying question. Time ticks by agonizingly slow, even slower when it doesn’t seem like there’s going to be another commercial break to be squeezed in before the program ends. The interviewer looks worn down from trying to get something juicy out of Yuuri for the viewers, while Leroy’s eyes keep flickering to something off camera. Maybe trying to figure out how to slip away without being noticed.

“ _Well, congratulations on the wedding again, you two. But just one more question before we leave. Yuuri_ ,” the interviewer begins, Yuuri still not raising his head up to face them, “ _we heard from your fiancé his favorite thing about you. So, we got to know what is your favorite thing about him?_ ”

Yuuri doesn’t say anything, but he visibly stiffens. The interviewer leans in, interest building in their eyes for something to latch onto. But Yuuri’s shoulders slump downwards, depressing and unresponsive. Leroy gives a loud laugh that startles the interviewer.

“ _A-Ah, my fiancé is_ **_really_ ** _camera shy! Can’t talk about those intimate things in private, you know?_ ” Leroy clumsily excuses. Then, he claps a stiff hand on Yuuri’s knee in what should have appeared very comforting, but only appears like Leroy is trying to squash an invisible fly. The interviewer laughs, stilted and just as uncomfortable, before turning to face the camera with a strained smile.

“ _Anyways, thank you all for tuning in. Goodnight!_ ”

The camera immediately pans away from the tree as the lights dim and a voiceover for the evening news plays.

“ _What kind of interview was that?_ ” Christophe’s voice eventually filters into Victor’s ears, even though his words sound like nothing but a distant echo. He just stares at the television screen, shallow breaths coming from his lips and tightness brewing in his joints.

“I need to see him,” Victor finally manages to say, tongue tied and coming out as a grumble at the back of his throat.

“. . . _You’re going to crash the wedding?_ ”

“I don’t know. I just know I need to talk to him, like _now_ ,” Victor says, rubbing his eyes as his knee starts to nervously bounce up and down. He feels sick, no other way to describe it. His stomach is pulled tight like a Windsor knot and there’s a cold sweat breaking out over his forearms and pools at the nape of his neck. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand how this is still _happening_. Right now, he and Yuuri should be eagerly talking about tomorrow night as they prepare to share the experience of their first ever autumn ball.

_The autumn ball at the end of the month, are you attending it?_

. . .Why did Seung-Gil bring up the ball back then?

“ _Victor?_ ”

“Huh?” Victor asks, not having time to think about the sudden recollection of Seung-Gil’s words.

“ _Maybe we can get Phichit to somehow get you in there. Take you as a plus one maybe if his boyfriend invites him,”_ Christophe suggests.

“O-Oh. Yeah, we could do that too. But we’ve already did this twice with the guy, so no doubt he’s going to think that something’s fishy,” Victor says. He glances down at his coffee table, at the tickets to the ball that are now buried underneath junk mail and magazines. The ball. . .why did he mention that, especially if Seung-Gil doesn’t talk about ‘unnecessary things’. . .

“ _Victor?_ ”

“Yeah?”

“ _You keep zoning out on me. Are you okay?_ ”

“Yeah. . .yeah, I’m fine. . .hey, are we all still going to the ball tomorrow night?” Victor asks.

“ _The ball? Is there some sort of reason why_ **_that’s_ ** _what you’re thinking of at a time like this?_ ”

“No. It’s just. . .I don’t know, I think something is going to happen and we should go,” Victor explains, running a hand through his hair.

“ _Is it a good something or a bad something?_ ” Christophe asks warily.

“It’s. . .an ‘I-don’t-know’ something. Hopefully good by the end of the night,” Victor says weakly. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen in the next forty-eight hours. It feels like he’s being blown about by a hurricane that threatens to rip him limb from limb, yanking and pulling him in all directions without any clue as to when it will finally _stop_. It makes him feel uneasy, but he can’t imagine how Yuuri must be handling all this.

Victor pulls his lower lip in between his teeth, then runs his tongue over his bottom lip where it's red and raw. “I’ll call you later, I need to text Phichit,” Victor says, voice dazed and distracted. He’s not sure if Christophe says goodbye in return, or something else entirety, since Victor hangs up and drops his phone into his lap to lean back into the cushions of the couch.

Makkachin whimpers for him, gently nudging his paw against Victor’s knee. Victor pats the side of the couch and Makkachin takes the invitation, climbing up on top and resting his head over Victor’s lap. He nuzzles affectionately against Victor, a tiny whimper ringing in Victor’s ears as Makkachin sags into the cushions alongside his master. Victor runs his hand back in Makkachin’s fur, turning back to the television but not truly watching what was flashing on the screen in quick bright colors.

He thinks of Yuuri and his downcast eyes, and wonders if he can see them sparkle for at least one last time.

 

* * *

 

“This place is fucking lame.”

“Eloquent as always, Yura,” Mila says dryly. Yuri clicks his tongue at her, before he nearly topples over in his dress shoes that are one size too big. Otabek and Sara help steady him, help adjust his suit as well and preen him like a flustered baby chick, while Yuri broods and his scowl stretches further across his lips.

“All I’m saying is that this is _stupid_ . Why do we have to be here at the ball when we could be walking around enjoying the festival that _isn’t_ lame. Look around, it’s just a bunch of decrepit people with too much time on their hands spinning around to the same fucking song,” Yuri says with a wave of his hand to the crowd of dancers on the floor.

Victor honestly hasn’t had time to pay attention to his surroundings since they arrived, intensely staring at the door where guests are filtering in and out of the door. He knows that there’s no basis for believing that something might happen at the ball. Seung-Gil could have just been checking to see if Victor had something else to preoccupy himself while Yuuri is busy prepping for the wedding.

Yet, he’s here, dressed in a stiff suit that doesn’t go along with the theme of fairy tales and golden dreams blanketing the patrons outside of his small group of friends. Ornately dressed people are glancing over in their direction, turning their powdered noses at them whenever Yuri directs a scowl in response.

“We’re here for Victor. Being good _supportive_ friends,” Phichit says.

“What if he isn’t even here? I better not have wasted thirty bucks buying a ticket to this place that could have been spent on one of those turkey legs. I mean, did you _see_ the size of those things?!” Yuri exclaims. Sara holds her stomach and groans.

“Don’t talk about that. I still haven’t eaten anything,” she complains, looking over at the snack table that is sprinkled with bitter sandwiches and bland appetizers.

“He has to be here. Those old ladies were whispering something about there being special guests coming to the ball. And since ‘Just Yuuri’ is the only thing people can talk about around here, it _has_ to be him,” Mila says in a hushed whisper. Christophe sighs, adjusting the gold cufflinks of his suit.

“That doesn’t _mean_ he’s going to be here. Especially after that mess of an interview, I wouldn’t blame him for wanting to hide away until he has to marry that tool,” Christophe says. Victor bristles at the thought, but his tongue is a dead weight in his mouth and words are eluding him. Christophe notices his tension, and claps a hand onto Victor’s shoulder to give it a light squeeze.

“Things are going to turn out alright. We have our secret weapon,” Christophe says, directing a tilt of his head in Phichit’s direction. Phichit bites his lower lip, placing a hand on his hip as he rubs the back of his neck with the other, unsure.

“Well, Seung-Gil hasn’t responded to me asking for an invitation. I think worst case scenario, he’s moved on from dealing with me and we might have to consider breaking in to crash the wedding,” Phichit says with a wince.

“What if it’s not even at their estate? What if it’s on some remote island no one knows about?” Yuri theorizes.

“Or what if they already got married in secret?” Otabek adds. Victor’s skin starts to pale.

“You guys are starting to psych him out,” Christophe hisses, turning to face the small group. “Alright, anyone that wants to go out to the festival and do recon there, raise your hand.”

Yuri’s hand immediately shoots up, Otabek’s following shortly after. Then after a brief pause, Mila and Sara’s hands go up as well.

“Not that we don’t _want_ to see Yuuri and make sure everything goes okay between you two, but we’ve been standing around for two hours waiting for him to show up,” Sara murmurs. Victor bites the inside of his cheek, giving a solemn yet understanding nod of his head.

“Yeah. . .you guys go and enjoy yourselves. I’ll be alright,” Victor says, then turns his attention back towards the entrance. There’s a brief bout of hushed whispers echoing behind him, which he drowns out by looking through the crowd by the ballroom entrance for a sign of Yuuri. Eventually, out of the corner of his eye he sees the four heading off towards the exit that leads to the festival, Mila giving him a pitiful look over her shoulder every two steps.

Victor lets out a sigh, turning to find Christophe and Phichit still standing beside him. He gives the two a weak smile. “So, we’re just going to stand around here like idiots waiting for someone we don’t even know will show up, huh?” Victor asks.

“We _could_ go out and dance. Maybe talk shit about these ridiculous outfits everyone is wearing?” Christophe suggests with a quirk of his eyebrows. It manages to draw a chuckle from Victor’s lips, before his eyes drift back to the entrance once more.

“Yeah, we can. . .just. . .give me a couple of minutes here,” Victor says, feeling stupidly optimistic for some reason. Christophe nods his head, getting himself comfortable as he leans against the pillar, while Phichit pulls out his phone and starts to browse social media.

“Sure,” Christophe says, watching the entrance. “Take your time.”

 

* * *

 

 

They wait.

They wait.

They wait.

Christophe eventually drifts away to the snack table to peruse its contents for anything edible, and manages to come back with tea cakes. They aren’t _too_ stale, but are so ridiculously small that Victor eats his in one bite and does absolutely nothing to stave off his hunger. There’s a burn at the back of his thighs, tightening around his knee joints so that he begins to sway as exhaustion creeps over him. He’s lost track of time; if he strains his ears hard enough, he can faintly hear the sound of the fireworks show that was supposed to occur at around nine.

Which means they’ve been standing here for almost four hours.

There’s no open seats for Victor to rest his legs. All the tables are occupied, and no one seems to be freeing up their seat anytime soon. Victor starts to lean on Phichit’s shoulder to keep him upright, straining his eyes and scrutinizing every face that comes in through the entrance doors.

“Any word from Mila and the others?” he asks out of the blue. His throat is scratchy and dry. The punch bowl opposite the dance floor looks so inviting, an oasis of pink sugar water in a golden savannah that smells of cheap perfume. He undoes the first few buttons of his white dress shirt while Phichit shakes his head, scrolling through his recent messages.

“Nothing about spotting ‘Just Yuuri’. But apparently there’s a food cart outside that’s giving away free candied apples and they look _so_ good,” Phichit says with a groan. Christophe rests the back of his head against the pillar, shifting all his weight to his left foot as he squares his shoulders back.

“So, what’s the plan now? There’s still two more hours till the ball is officially over. You don’t think that lawyer was just saying stuff, do you?”

“Yuuri said he doesn’t talk about unimportant things. Why would he care if I was going to the ball or not?” Victor asks. He rubs his forehead and sighs. “I don’t know anymore. . .I’m going to the bathroom to freshen up for a bit,” Victor says and rolls his shoulders to loosen them up. Phichit gives a nod of his head, shaking his phone in Victor’s direction.

“I’ll text you if we see him while you’re gone!” Phichit calls out. Victor smiles and gives a thankful wave of his hand, before he trudges off to the bathrooms in the far back corner, secluded away from the crowd that’s thinning with each passing minute. He heads towards the sink when he steps inside, letting the cool water run over his knuckles before he cups it in his hands and splashes his face. He stares at his reflection in the mirror, pitiful blue eyes staring back without any sort of spark. What if he’s been wasting his time waiting around for Yuuri to make the first move when he should have been trying to seek Yuuri out first? What if it’s too late and Yuuri already has gold wrapped around his finger and a new face that isn’t his Yuuri anymore? Blindly, he reaches for some paper towels to wipe his face, then stumbles to the biggest stall and closes the door shut behind him so he could think in privacy.

Victor fixes his shirt so he looks presentable again, smoothing a still damp palm through his locks as he tries to not deeply breathe in the smell of bleach and urinal cake. Resting his back against the door, he closes his eyes and thinks. He thinks about Yuuri. He thinks about Yuuri’s dull eyes during the interview and what can he do to bring that sparkle back that Victor fell in love with. He thinks about all the ways he wishes he could make Yuuri happy, but they expire and fizzle out like candles when each one comes to a conclusion that he knows he can’t provide.

In the midst of mulling through his thoughts, Victor hears the door open and an agitated voice complain, “I can’t believe we _finally_ lost them.”

His eyes nearly pop out of their sockets when he realizes he _knows_ that voice.

“JJ,” another voice responds, this one a little bit more gravely and matured, “you still need to be with him at the ball. People are going to wonder why the future newlyweds are keeping their distance.”

“Just so I can have _more_ people crowding around us and ogling like we’re animals at the zoo? It’s annoying. I shouldn’t have to put up with this!”

A sink faucet turns on, followed by the sound of splashing water echoing in the small space of the bathroom, before the faucet gets turned off. There’s a sigh, drained and exhausted.

“I’m used to the cameras and paparazzi. But now all I hear is ‘give Yuuri a kiss!’. ‘Tell us more about Yuuri!’. Yuuri this, Yuuri _that_ . Why do people find him so fascinating? That disgusting nose of his is so _grotesque_ and they want me to kiss _that?_ Father-”

“Listen JJ,” the other voice responds, “you got yourself into this mess by gambling away our assets and being careless. The Katsukis are willing to resolve our monetary issues if we do them this one favor, and once we get our debts settled, you can quietly divorce him. Until then, do what you must and keep up appearances. God knows this entire country’s fallen in love with the little ‘pig prince’, and will get up in arms if word spreads that his fiancé thinks he is atrocious. You are Yuuri’s ‘Prince Charming’, so act like it.”

An irritated huff follows the lecture, then there are hushed whispers that are too faint for Victor’s ears to properly hear. He waits until the sound of footsteps, then a door opening and closing, before he peeks his head out of the stall and finds that he is alone. When he steps out of the stall, it’s with a tremble. His jaw is clenched tight and his breathing is shallow. His heart is racing too fast, beating too hard against his ribcage. He feels like there shouldn’t be any surprise that Leroy is using Yuuri. Yet, his blood _boils_ beneath his skin, and his mouth twists between a snarl and a grimace that bares his teeth. He takes one step forward, then two, then three, till he’s all but rushing out of the bathroom and into the noisy atmosphere of the ball. Suddenly, it’s all too loud for his ears, echoing like a chorus of drums and thunderbolts as his breathing quickens. There’s a crowd forming on the opposite of the dancefloor, gathering and blocking Victor’s view as to what it is that everyone is rushing to see.

Something sinks to the bottom of Victor’s stomach then. Yuuri. What if Yuuri is standing there, amidst the storm of strangers that circle him like a hurricane. What if Leroy is there, acting like he is the ‘Prince Charming’ there to save the day, and protecting his ‘darling Yuuri’s’ modesty and Victor is getting so _hot_ . The tips of his ears are burning and his lungs feel like they’re catching fire. It’s hard to swallow, it’s hard to _breathe_ . Should he run over there? Should he expose Leroy as a fraud out for Yuuri’s money? What if he’s jumping the gun and Yuuri isn’t even in the crowd? What if he is and Victor ends up ruining Yuuri’s chances of finally getting what he wants? But what _if-_

He’s too warm. He’s too hot and his head is growing too muddled. Quickly, Victor seeks out an exit, just to get some fresh air away from the bright golden lights and heavy perfume smell that’s clogging his lungs and making everything so much _worse_. There’s a service door to his right that he pushes open and steps out. The night air is warm, and he harshly breathes it in.

There’s fireworks, lighting up the night sky with loud booms to the cheers of the festival next door. They explode one after the other, darkness for one second and then bursts of reds and yellows like comets exploding in the atmosphere. He’s in a small garden area, the scent heavy with roses and hyacinths that it is almost suffocating. The bushes have twinkling lights threading through its branches, blinking in and out to illuminate a path that leads to a bench, dead center.

And there, sitting with his head towards the sky filled with exploding lights that drown the stars, is Yuuri.

His hands are folded over his lap, the twinkling fairy lights in the roses around him making him appear like a dream that flutters in and out of the darkness. Victor takes slow footsteps towards Yuuri, as if he’s wondering if he is in a dream right now and will wake up with his chin resting on Phichit’s shoulder on the drive back home to his apartment. His breathing is slower now, more timid, easing out of him in long sighs as he draws closer.

When Victor’s foot comes down, it snaps a twig and the sharp noise is not lost to the echoes of the fireworks. Yuuri jumps in his spot and his hands fly up to his face as he spins around. A bright flash of gold and red explodes in the sky above and Yuuri’s face is bathed in light.

He’s crying.

Victor is still, eyes wide and hands trembling at his side. Yuuri’s hands still cover his nose, but his tear-filled eyes widen with surprise, drawing Victor closer. When Victor expects to be the one to move first, Yuuri is the one that steps towards him.

His movement is quick, like he’s trying to run to Victor and at the same time hold himself back. Yuuri’s hands fall to clutch at the front of his double-breasted coat, pure white with gold trimming around the cuffs of his sleeve and collar of the coat. His hair is slicked back as well, no glasses framing those wide eyes that are sparkling too bright. Yuuri pauses when there is about a foot’s distance between them, close enough for Victor to drink in Yuuri’s form and smell the familiar scent of his shampoo on Yuuri’s skin intermingling with sweet cologne.

“I. . .what are you doing here?” Yuuri says, though his eyes appear to want to say something else. His voice doesn’t drown into the cheers of the festival close by or the fireworks flashing high above their heads. It rings in honeyed tones, a quiet whisper that sends chills up Victor’s spine. Victor’s eyes rest on Yuuri’s face and his pig snout, still a blotchy peach shade from crying.

“. . .You’re beautiful,” Victor murmurs in response. Yuuri hiccups, wrapping tight arms around himself and squeezing tight. “I’m sorry,” Victor then apologizes, and it doesn’t fight back down the blush that appears over Yuuri’s cheeks. Yuuri gives a frustrated rub at his eyes, erasing any tears waiting to fall, then sucks in a deep breath.

“. . .Are you here alone?” Yuuri asks.

“I’m with the gang. Well, half of them left to go hang out at the festival, so it’s really just me, Christophe and Phichit that are here at the ball,” Victor explains. He hasn’t gotten a text from Phichit yet, so he doesn’t know if they’re looking for him or if they’re looking for Yuuri. Victor takes a step closer, seeing Yuuri flinch but still remain where he stands.

“How about you?” Victor asks. “Are you here alone?”

Yuuri is quiet, only stammering out a shaky “N-No” when Victor takes another step closer. “I’m. . .I’m with Seung-Gil. . .and my fiancé and his father,” Yuuri says.

“Where are they?” Victor asks. Another step forward, and Yuuri’s arms squeeze around himself tighter.

“I just. . .my fiancé needed some space. Seung-Gil is getting me something to eat,” Yuuri answers. As if the curiosity is eating away at his resolve, Yuuri’s eyes flicker upwards to lock with Victor’s, and Victor is breathless. He falls in love with Yuuri’s eyes all over again, and it feels like a weight is crushing his lungs so much that he can’t even take in a gasp of admiration when a firework explodes overhead and Yuuri is bathed in golden light.

Yuuri averts his eyes, and finally takes a step back and away from Victor. “I. . .I shouldn’t be alone with you. I wouldn’t want something to be said about you in the press,” Yuuri says, placing his hands behind his back. He’s still keeping a guard up that Victor doesn’t understand and makes his head ache when he tries to. Victor swallows a dry lump and focuses on breathing instead.

“I don’t care if they say anything about me. I just care about you,” Victor says.

“I told you, you don’t have to worry about me-”

“Is he treating you right?” Victor asks. “Your. . .fiancé.” The words come out of Victor’s mouth stilted and awkward. Yuuri must notice his tone by the way that his eyes flicker back to Victor’s face.

“He’s. . .alright,” Yuuri answers. Victor gives a slow nod of his head and slips his hands into his pockets.

“Just alright?”

Now, Yuuri’s eyes spark with that stubborn glint. He gives a frustrated huff, turning away from Victor and plops himself back down on the bench. “What do you want me to say? I told you that I don’t need to love him to break the curse. I just need him to accept me,” Yuuri says. His voice sounds more hurt than angry, like just talking about marrying Leroy is too heavy on his heart. Victor walks around to sit beside Yuuri, resting his hands on his knees though he wishes to reach out and hold Yuuri’s hand.

“It means a lot to you to break this curse, doesn’t it?” Victor asks. Yuuri pulls his lower lip in between his teeth.

“Of course it does. I’ve been a monster my entire life and this is my _only_ chance to finally become normal. I. . .I can’t let it get away from me,” Yuuri says. He’s choking out his words, his hands resting over his lap squeezing tightly together.

“But you’re _not_ a monster. You’re Yuuri,” Victor stresses. Yuuri sighs, and it’s gentle and forlorn and makes Victor’s heart ache to hold the other man close. “. . .Yuuri, there’s something I need to tell you about your fiancé. He’s-”

“I know.”

Victor pauses, confused. Yuuri twiddles his thumbs, and starts to bounce his right knee. “I know he’s using me for my money. . .I know he isn’t in love with me. Seung-Gil brought it up before I accepted the proposal, just to be sure that I really wanted to go through with it,” Yuuri says. He cracks a smile that they both know is fake, and laughs a laugh that sounds like a whimper. “It’s funny. We’re supposed to be newlyweds tomorrow, yet we can’t even stand the thought of kissing each other.”

“. . .So why then?” Victor asks. “Why are you marrying someone that doesn’t love you back?”

The fake smile falls from Yuuri’s lips and he drops his head. “. . .You don’t understand,” Yuuri murmurs. Victor is silent. Above their heads, a firework explodes and lights the sky a deep shade of blue.

“. . .I want to,” Victor says. Yuuri doesn’t look at him. His shoulders pull upwards, tense and tight and trying to close Victor off anyway that he can. Victor runs his tongue over his dry bottom lip, and scoots in closer. “I’m sorry, Yuuri,” Victor apologizes. Now the fake smile slips over Victor’s lips, sorrow laced at the corners of his mouth. “I’m sorry that I don’t understand. I’m sorry that every angle that I look at this and try to understand and accept it, I just get more confused and frustrated,” Victor says. He folds his hands over his lap and sighs. “All I want is for you to be happy. I thought that I could be enough, but I guess I was stupid for thinking that I could have you all to myself.”

“Don't say that,” Yuuri responds, words shaky.

“I wish I could give you everything you want. I wish I could make you as happy as you made me. I-” Victor stops, feeling his words momentarily choke in his throat. He glances down at his hands that are trembling and tears his teeth into his bottom lip to collect his thoughts. “. . .Thank you for letting me share with you all your firsts,” Victor manages to say before he can’t say anything else.

“. . .You _have_ made me happy,” Yuuri responds after a beat, and he draws in a sharp take of air like he forgot how to breathe. “You’ve made me _so happy_ , Victor. You’ve done so much for me and I –” Yuuri turns his head, and his gaze traps Victor. There’s no longer fireworks brightening the skies above, just the glow of the lights that twinkle and flash over Yuuri’s face every few seconds. Yuuri’s hands goes up without any warning, timid, and grazes his fingertips against Victor’s cheekbones. The touch makes everything real for Victor. Yuuri holds his face like it isn’t.

His touch is soft, like he’s afraid Victor is going to break. But Victor sees it in Yuuri’s eyes that he’s closer to breaking than Victor is. There’s too many emotions swirling behind a mask that is trying _so hard_ not to crumble. He sees Yuuri wants to not care. He sees Yuuri want to say ‘this is my choice, this is what I want’, but the words never come from his mouth frozen in longing. He sees all of those conflicting thoughts and emotions swirl in Yuuri’s irises that catch the lights in quick bursts. He sees Yuuri begging Victor to understand.

Victor reaches his hand up to hold Yuuri’s wrist. He pulls it back only a bit, just enough so he can kiss Yuuri’s pulse.

“I love you,” Victor mouths against Yuuri’s warm, soft skin. “Don’t ever think I’ll _stop_ loving you.”

“. . .I. . .” Yuuri breathes, but stops himself from continuing. Victor kisses Yuuri’s wrist again, peppering kisses up his palm to his fingers where there’s no ring. Yuuri doesn’t pull back, not even as Victor’s eyes move to gaze over the curves of Yuuri’s cheeks and the softness of his lips. Slowly, Victor raises his other hand and cups Yuuri’s cheek, skirting his thumb down over Yuuri’s cheekbone and down to swipe his pad against Yuuri’s bottom lip.

“. . .Victor,” Yuuri whispers, and he leans into Victor’s touch.

They’re close. Too close. Yuuri is starlight and beauty that flickers in and out of the dark with the lights. He feels Yuuri’s warmth beneath his fingertips, the softness of his skin. He knows he’s there, yet at the same time it feels like he’s going to disappear at the stroke of midnight. He looks down at Yuuri’s lips again, absently touches the tip of his thumb to the corner of Yuuri’s lips.

“. . .That time when I offered to kiss you. . .it wasn’t out of pity,” Victor says, dazed and dreamlike. Yuuri shudders out a sigh against Victor’s hand, and he gives a weak smile.

“. . .I still haven’t had my first kiss. . .” Yuuri responds, and his eyes sparkle like gold.

Victor is still, watching as Yuuri’s shoulders stop being tense and closed off. They slump downwards, vulnerable; the hand Victor is holding turns in Victor’s grasp so Yuuri can twine their fingers together. Victor brings their clasped hands down the same time his other hand moves back to card through Yuuri’s hair and cradle the back of his head. Yuuri’s breathing hitches for only a second, then he relaxes against Victor and his eyes dreamily flutter shut.

Victor inches closer, closer, _closer_. His eyes fall shut, and he imagines that maybe in another world, in a fairytale, he would be enough and this would be how their story ends. He’ll be the prince that Yuuri falls in love with and marries. He’ll be the one to break the curse and give Yuuri everything he’s ever wanted. He’ll be the one that Yuuri lives ‘happily ever after’ with.

But he’s Just Victor.

There’s an agitating shout of ‘there he is!’ that sounds out of nowhere, and drags Victor back down to reality.

Yuuri jolts away the same time that Victor’s head turns in confusion towards the source of the voice. There’s a crowd approaching them, cameras and cellphones out and at the ready. Leading the group like a shepherd hearing mindless sheep is Leroy with that false photogenic smile he wore during the interview. Yuuri rises to his feet, hands behind his back, and puts space between him and Victor as the crowd approaches. Victor remains seated on the bench, realizing a second later that his skin is warm for a different reason now.

“There’s my _beautiful_ fiancé,” Leroy stresses through his clenched teeth. Camera lights start to flash and illuminate Yuuri’s figure in a blinding white light. Yuuri immediately shields his eyes and his nose, to disappointed photographers that shout ‘come on! Let’s see the nose!’. Victor jumps to his feet, throwing a protective arm around Yuuri to turn him away from the flashing of the cameras.

“No, Victor-” Yuuri tries to whisper. Nevertheless, his hand still tightly clutches to the front of Victor’s suit, refusing to let go.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine-” A photographer circles around Victor and Yuuri, snapping an extremely close photo. Yuuri unintentionally turns into Victor’s chest, like it’s a reflex, and buries his face into the crook of Victor’s neck. Victor holds him as the camera flashes intensify, questions being yelled at him from all directions. Who is he? What’s his relationship to Yuuri? Is there a scandal going on? Is there trouble in this little ‘fairytale romance’?

“I’m sorry,” Victor hears Yuuri apologize.

“Don’t apologize,” Victor responds back, curt, and turns his attention back to the photographers and guests eager to catch a glimpse of Yuuri’s face. “Can you all just leave him alone? He’s not some animal to gawk at. He’s a human being with feelings like everyone else. This is the night before his wedding, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t stress him out like this,” Victor says, voice able to hide the scathing tone and anger he feels boiling beneath his tongue.

He then turns to Leroy, who has been awkwardly standing off to the side and staring at the two of them, not sure what to make of this situation. Victor approaches him with Yuuri still tight against him, trying to fight down the grimace to keep his expression purely neutral.

“You’re his fiancé,” Victor says, and he can’t hide how bitter he sounds, so he throws on a vacant smile as he continues, “take him home. He needs some rest after what’s happened.”

Yuuri’s chin tilts up and the tip of his snout grazes alongside Victor’s jaw.

“Victor-” Yuuri tries to speak, but he’s cut off by an awkward laugh by Leroy.

“Of course! We do have a busy day after all and we should be heading to bed. Thank you all for being so hospitable but we _do_ need to be leaving!” Leroy says, oh so charming. Yuuri’s hand digs tighter in the front of Victor’s suit.

“Victor-” Yuuri speaks, but his words get trapped in his throat. Victor squeezes Yuuri and tries to remember one last time how Yuuri feels in his arms and Yuuri’s expression when he looks in his eyes.

“I love you, solnyshko. My only sunshine,” Victor whispers for only Yuuri to hear. He wishes he could kiss Yuuri now. He wishes he could show all these people who truly loves Yuuri, but he instead forces himself to smile as genuinely as he can while his chest aches as Leroy pulls Yuuri away from him.

There’s someone in the crowd that heckles “Is there even going to _be_ a wedding?!”. Victor doesn’t know where it came from, but he sees both Leroy and Yuuri bristle at the words. Leroy’s arm around Yuuri is stiff and he puffs out his chest like a peacock that had had its feathers ruffled.

“Of course. I. . .I _love_ Yuuri!” Leroy says, and he forces out the words like he’s going to vomit right after. Yuuri averts his eyes to the ground shamefully, one of his hands going up to cover his nose again.

Then Leroy pushes Yuuri’s hand back down before it properly covers his face, spins Yuuri around to face him, and crushes their lips together in one messy swoop.

It’s not a kiss, Victor wants to tell himself. It’s not Yuuri’s first kiss, Victor tries to say aloud in his head as camera lights blind him. But there it is.

People shove past him, completely disregarded, so they can get a closer shot as Leroy hooks his hands around Yuuri’s waist and tries to figure out how to hold him like a lover. Victor feels. . .numb. He feels like stone is settling into his innards and cement is filling up his lungs trickle by trickle and every second that Leroy’s lips and tongue work their way over Yuuri’s mouth.

Yuuri yanks away as quickly as Leroy pulled him in, staring at the other man in disbelief and horror. Leroy is grimacing, but he’s able to pass it off as a bashful smile to the cameras. There’s noise and chatter and the lights grow brighter and brighter around Victor. The garden is no longer intimate with its gentle, twinkling lights; it’s now clogged and overcrowded with too much noise and too many.

Yuuri’s eyes manage to find Victor’s, and Victor sees it now.

He sees regret.

He understands.

Yuuri pushes away from Leroy and he turns on his heel. He brings his hands to his face as he flees from the garden and forces himself through the crowd, cameras lights chasing after him. A figure – Victor sees that it’s Seung-Gil from the boring suit the lawyer always wears to every occasion - quickly throws their coat over Yuuri and redirects him towards the exit. Leroy, meanwhile, tries to laugh it off as Yuuri being ‘camera shy’.

A hand clamps on Victor’s shoulder, preventing him from stepping towards Leroy and yanking him back. His head whirrs around to meet Christophe’s eyes.

“Come on. Before they block _our_ exit,” Christophe says, and hooks his arm around Victor’s to pull him away from the noise and the lights before Victor drowns in it.

They relocate later in front of an empty stall that is being torn down and packaged away, the festival slowly emptying out of patrons and clean-up crews shuffling past them to take everything down. Mila offers her bits of leftover food to Victor, to which he accepts with a mumbled ‘thanks’, while Sara crosses her arms over her chest as Christophe explains what happened with him and Phichit.

“We came across his boyfriend and cornered him,” Christophe says with a sigh, then shrugs. “But we didn’t get much out of him regarding where the wedding is going to be.”

“Where _is_ Phichit anyways?” Sara asks.

“I lost him in the crowd when I was trying to get to Victor. There were so many people trying to push and shove their way forward,” Christophe says regrettably and checks his phone. “I’ve been texting him letting him know where we are, but he’s not responding.”

“Which for Phichit is _really weird_ ,” Mila points out. Yuri clicks his tongue, directing a glance at Victor poking around at the lukewarm carnival food in grease-stained box.

“So, was this entire night just a waste? That Other Yuri is still going to marry that tool?”

Victor closes his eyes. “I don’t know,” he answers.

“What do you mean ‘you don’t _know_ ’?”

“I’m saying that I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow. I. . .I don’t think Yuuri really wants to go through with this,” Victor mutters.

“But didn’t you say Phichit’s boyfriend said that he made the choice to marry Leroy?” Otabek asks. Christophe bites the inside of his cheek, slipping his hands back into his pockets as he shifts his weight to one foot.

“He could have been trying to psyche us out all along. It’s not like they think that love needs to be involved to break the curse anyways, so they _could_ be forcing Yuuri to marry the guy,” Christophe theorizes. Victor shakes his head, frown on his lips.

“The only one forcing Yuuri to marry Leroy is Yuuri himself,” Victor states. Yuri scoffs.

“So the guy is fucking up his _own_ life?” Yuri spits.

“No. I just – I know deep down he doesn't want to do this, but. . .he really wants to break the curse,” Victor says and sighs.

“But what if the curse doesn’t _break?_ We all seen him on interviews. Does that even _look_ like a guy that would love Just Yuuri and take him as a husband?” Mila questions.

“Phichit’s boyfriend is very clear that all he needs to do is ‘accept’ Yuuri. Apparently, Leroy signing the marriage document should be enough to break the curse,” Christophe responds.

“That’s just a piece of paper! That doesn’t mean he really accepts him!” Mila groans, bringing her hands to her face. “What’s going to _happen_ to him? He’s our friend too, I feel like we should be doing _something_ more to help him than just standing around and agreeing that what he’s doing is a bad idea.”

“Well if he wants to break the curse, we can’t do anything about that,” Otabek says. Mila’s cheeks puff out in defiance.

“Okay, but that doesn’t mean that Yuuri has to set himself up for failure like this! I mean, Victor-”

“ _Can’t_ break the curse,” Yuri butts in. He scoffs and crosses his arms. “Do you think if Victor _could_ break the curse, Other Yuri would even _think_ about marrying that douchebag? We’ll just be in the same boat even if we break them up. Some other asshole that could break the curse will come waltzing along and he’s going to abandon Victor again so he could be ‘normal’. Which, is fucking pointless because ninety-eight percent of the population is weirdos and losers anyways.”

“Who’s the two percent?” Sara questions and Yuri juts a thumb over to Otabek.

“Me and him, of course,” Yuri states bluntly. He shakes his head. “Point is, until Other Yuri learns to grow a pair, stops giving a fuck about what some random assholes on the street say about him, and starts loving _himself_ , there’s no point in sticking our noses in this anymore.”

Sara sighs. “Maybe we should all just go to bed and reconvene in the morning,” she murmurs.

“But the wedding is _tomorrow_. We’ll be out of time,” Christophe stresses. Victor closes up the food box and squares his shoulders.

“We should look for Phichit,” he says, glancing at the clock on his phone. “He still hasn’t texted anyone yet?” Victor asks.

“I agree. We should find out if Phichit is okay before we continue on what to do about Yuuri,” Otabek says. Yuri scoffs, kicking at a stray can as he slips his hands in his pockets.

“Not like there’s anything _to do_ about him, but whatever.”

 

* * *

 

 

Phichit calls Christophe back one hour later, after they searched the festival grounds and around the perimeter of the rec center and repeatedly dialed his number in the hopes he will answer.

“Why the fuck weren’t you answering your texts?” Yuri swears the second Christophe puts the phone on speaker. They’re standing outside of the rec center, huddled in a tight circle while the night air starts to crawl up their spines.

“ _Sorry, sorry! I know, I probably worried you guys. Just. . .lots of stuff happened._ ”

“Where are you? We searched the entire festival grounds and went back into the rec center to see if you were still at the ball,” Victor asks.

“ _I’m with Seung-Gil. I’m at his apartment._ ”

There’s a brief pause around the circle. Then, Christophe’s smile grows sly and Yuri makes a disgusted face.

“You mean to tell me the reason you didn’t bother answering us was because you were too busy getting fu-”

“ **_No_ ** , _that’s_ **_not_ ** _the reason_ ,” Phichit interrupts Yuri before he can finish that statement. There’s a longsuffering sigh on the other line before Phichit continues, “ _He told me to come with him when he was trying to leave with Yuuri. Didn’t want me to get trampled by the crowd. We took Yuuri home and he was. . .he was really shook up, guys.”_

Victor winces from hearing that, wondering what could possibly be going through Yuuri’s head right now and wishing that he could be there to offer some sort of comfort.

“ _But! I found out that the wedding is_ **_definitely_ ** _going to be at their estate. I saw that they have their backyard garden set up for a small wedding ceremony when we took Yuuri home,_ ” Phichit brings up. Christophe’s grins, turning to Victor with a nod of his head.

“So that means, Phichit could get in there and sneak you in.”

“ _Actually, no_ ,” Phichit answers. He gives another sigh. “ _I asked Seung-Gil about it already. It’s strictly family only.  Apparently, Yuuri’s fiancé wanted a small crowd_ ,” Phichit explains. Sara scoffs and Mila shakes her head.

“He doesn’t even want people witnessing him marrying Yuuri. . .well, what are we going to do?” Mila asks as she glances around the circle.

“Go to bed,” Yuri grumbles.

“Victor’s last resort would be to go to the estate before the wedding. If it’s going to be a small crowd, it would be too obvious if we all went with him, so he’d probably have to go in alone,” Otabek states. He then crosses his arms and closes his eyes. “But Yura’s right. Unless we have a solution that will make everyone happy, maybe we shouldn’t be sticking our nose into their business anymore.”

“But he’s our _friend_ . We should at least be _trying_ to help him,” Mila says with a frown.

“I _know_ he’s our friend. But we’re running around like chickens with our heads chopped off trying to help Victor and Yuuri and we don’t know if what we’re doing will even be enough,” Otabek stresses.

“ _I think that Yuuri just really needs to sit down and think this over. Like, I don’t know, there’s_ **_got_ ** _to be a loophole to all of this, right? One that can ensure Victor and Yuuri wind up happy together?_ ”

“You’re the one dating the lawyer,” Christophe says. He crosses his arms over his chest and his grip on his phone goes a little slack. Turning to Victor, Christophe asks, “What do you think?”

Victor glances at Christophe’s phone. “Did you get a chance to talk to Yuuri at all before you left, Phichit?” Victor asks.

“ _He wasn’t talking to anyone. He wouldn’t even look at his parents when he got home and went upstairs to his room, I guess_ ,” Phichit answers. Victor thinks about Yuuri avoiding his family, huddled up in his room alone and dwelling on what tomorrow might bring. Victor doesn’t know what to do, but he knows that the thought of Yuuri being alone and scared, or worse getting his heart broken from the curse not lifting, makes a knot form in his stomach.

“. . .I’m going to go to the wedding. But for now, I think everyone should go to bed and get some rest. It’s been a long day,” he suggests, watching everyone exchange looks with each other. Some look unsure, while others look as exhausted as Victor feels. Yuri stretches his arms over his head and yawns.

“Well, whatever happens,” he mutters and glances at Victor, “good luck.”

Victor smiles. “Awwww, Yura you _do_ care,” he fawns.

“I _don’t_.”

“Come on, bring it in~” Victor coos, opening his arms out wide.

“ _No!_ ” Yuri snaps as Otabek pushes him forward anyways into Victor’s bear hug. Yuri groans, then groans louder when Mila and Sara come over to give a hug and squeeze the two men nice and tight. Christophe smiles at them, then brings his phone back to his lips.

“Do you need me to pick you up?”

“ _Nah, I’m going to stay here. He already has a bed prepared for me and. . .you know, it’d be_ **_rude_ ** _and everything if I just leave_ ” Phichit says. Christophe snorts.

“ _Suuuure_ , let’s go with that. I’ll message you when I get back to my place,” Christophe says and hangs up. Once he does so, Yuri lets out an agitated growl and starts squirming in the tangle of arms surrounding him.

“Alright, that’s enough! Get off! I want to go to bed already!” He screeches, trying to throw the other three off of him when they don't get their arms off of him fast enough. Yuri clicks his tongue and shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans, an embarrassed and irritated blush on his cheeks. Victor smiles, feeling just a bit better..

Christophe approaches Victor, eyes holding both fondness and concern.

“You think everything is going to be alright tomorrow?” He asks, and really, Victor doesn’t know. He doesn’t know where he’s going to be at the end of tomorrow. He doesn’t know what is going to happen to Yuuri at the end of tomorrow. There’s a voice that whispers if Leroy _does_ break the curse, will Yuuri come back to Victor? There’s another voice that whispers even louder not to put Yuuri through the pain of something that he isn’t sure will work. He thinks about Yuuri’s lips, and he wishes he could have kissed Yuuri while he had the chance.

Victor sighs and looks Christophe in the eye. “I sure as hell hope so.”

 

* * *

 

One dreamless night passes before the sun rises in the morning.

Victor showers up and dresses into something formal and presentable. He knows the second that someone recognizes him, there will be a stir. While he doesn’t believe the Katsukis will kick Victor out for intruding on the wedding, he can’t be sure if they’re so desperate for the curse to break that they’ll make sure Victor doesn’t interrupt it.

He doesn’t eat breakfast and he gives Makkachin’s belly a rub for good luck, before he toes on his loafers and exits his apartment. The drive up there is silent. Victor thinks of all the worst case scenarios that could happen at the wedding, ranging from him not being able to even get inside, to Yuuri rejecting Victor regardless if the curse is broken or not. Though he’s sure of Yuuri’s feelings for him, he can’t help but worry about _something_ going wrong, and he wishes he weren’t so paranoid about it, but he _is_.

Paparazzi vehicles are stationed at the base of the road entrance that leads up to the estate; further up are news vehicles and reporters going over their story. He tries to drive past them casually, stonefaced as some photographers cock their heads and try to peer inside his car as he passes by. There’s cars parked at the front entrance gate, and even more when he rounds the side to the garden entrance that he entered through before. He parks next to a jet black Mulsanne that has tin cans tied to its bumper and a tacky ‘Just Married!’ draped over the back window. Something for the cameras surely. Victor wonders if the other members of the Leroy family care as little for this wedding as the groom to be.

Shaking his bitter thoughts aside and adjusting his cufflinks, Victor quietly tiptoes to the gate and peers through the iron bars. There’s a few white plastic lawn chairs set up in a neat little row and positioned in front of a wooden altar covered in lilies and roses that is framed by an arbor. There are no guests that Victor can see, no signs of any photographers or press to catch him strolling in uninvited.

Victor checks the mouth of the stone dog by the gate again for the keys, but furrows his eyebrows when after a few seconds, he comes up with nothing. He gets to his feet and dust his knees, checking around in case he’s been spotted yet, before he eyes the gate. Of course, when he shakes it, it only rattles loud and alarming. Victor grits his teeth, then gauges the height of the wall, and decides two seconds later that he’ll just have to run up and see if he can vault himself over like a squirrel.

Victor steps back, gives a couple of stretches so he’s nice and limber, shuffles from left to right for a few seconds, and then bends low into a starting position. He’s _definitely_ not sixteen and used to hopping fences to cut classes, but he’s sure this is something that can’t be forgotten, like riding a bike or tying shoelaces.

Victor sucks in a breath in between his teeth, and he makes a bolt for it.

He flings himself at the wall and presses the toes of his left foot into the brick wall that has absolutely no holdings and barely manages to get his fingers around the top. Victor dangles there against the wall, reassessing his choices and options and hoping to _God_ that no one comes by and sees him like this. Victor huffs and tries to pull himself up with only his arms, swinging his hips to wriggle his body upward.

He’s got his elbows on the wall and is barely working his torso upwards when he sees the garden door open.

Victor makes an unflattering noise and drops back down to the ground, landing square on his ass in the fall. He groans, crawling to all fours as he peers through the steel bars. Seung-Gil is briskly walking down the path through the garden, while Minako chases after him in her heels and a gaudy pink and yellow bouquet in her hand.

“It’s only _one hour_ until the wedding and you just want to tell them _no?_ ” Minako’s voice rings in Victor’s ear. Seung-Gil stops short of the gate, Victor immediately ducking back behind the wall so he remains out of sight, and listens as Seung-Gil gives an agitated huff.

“I’m saying that we’re putting ourselves at a disadvantage if the curse doesn’t break. You know the Leroys don’t care about Yuuri, they just care about getting the Katsukis’ money. If the curse doesn’t break, it’s no skin off their nose,” Seung-Gil grumbles.

“But you _said_ that JJ signing the marriage certificate would be enough! We – Hiroko and Toshiya are waiting in there thinking that their son is _finally_ going to get what he’s wanted for eighteen years and you’re _now_ telling me you don’t think it’s going to work?!” Minako cries.

“I don’t _know_ if it will work. I just. . .I’ve been talking with someone-”

“Is that someone the reason you have a hickey on your neck?” Minako interrupts.

“. . . _Hmph_ ,” Seung-Gil huffs. “Point is, we might have jumped the gun on this. _All of us_.”

“You know Mr. Leroy isn’t going to just let us worm our way out of the wedding on such short notice,” Minako states.

“If push comes to shove, we could leak to the press the Leroys’ true intentions for marrying JJ off to Yuuri,” Seung-Gil says. He braces his hand on the handle of the gate and unlocks it from inside, Victor tensing as the gate pushes open. “If you don’t mind, I want to have some time to think to myself about this and-” Seung-Gil turns his head when Victor backs up against one of the dog statue and it scrapes against the other, eyes widening when they lock onto Victor’s face.

Sure enough, there’s an obvious bruise just below the curve of Seung-Gil’s chin, the collar of his dull grey suit that looks more appropriate for a funeral than a wedding barely managing to obscure it. Seung-Gil stands there and stares at Victor on the ground for a beat, then his eyebrows furrow together and he _sighs_.

“Of course he told you about the wedding,” he mutters, bringing his fingertips to lightly brush against the bruise on his neck. Minako appears behind Seung-Gil shortly after, peering down at Victor with a frown.

“Isn’t that Yuuri’s roommate?” she asks and Victor smiles, getting to his feet and dusting his knees again before he offers a hand out towards her.

“Um, hi! Soo, you may be wondering why I’m here-”

“This is a _family-only_ event. Leave before the press spots you lingering around here,” Seung-Gil snaps. Minako grabs Victor’s hand and pulls Victor inside the gate, moving both men out of sight behind the wall and locking the gate behind them. She turns to Victor, crossing her arms over her chest while the bouquet loosely dangles between her fingers.

“Look, there’s only _one_ reason why you’re here and that’s to do something _stupid_ ,” Minako snaps. Victor winces at her tone, sharp and cutting right through any façade Victor attempted to put up. She brings her fingertips to her temple and breathes in deep through her nose. “I don't understand _what_ is going on right now, but we can’t let anything else go amiss. First Yuuri’s locked himself in his room, then _you_ ,” she gestures a hand towards Seung-Gil, “you’re telling me that this is actually a waste of our time. And now _you_ -”

“Minako, I’m just saying that maybe we should look into this more,” Seung-Gil says.

“What more can we look into?! The curse states that Yuuri must be accepted by one of his own kind!” Minako exclaims.

“Yuuri’s locked up in his room?” Victor asks. He glances up to the second story, seeing one of the windows are cracked open and the curtains billow in the light breeze. Victor glances back to the two in front of him, slowly trying to step around Minako. “Do you think I could just. . .maybe see-”

“ _No_ ,” Minako and Seung-Gil both snap, blocking Victor from trying to take another step while they continue to debate. Seung-Gil folds his hands behind his back, matching the woman’s stern expression.

“I _know_ that the curse states Yuuri needs to be accepted by one of his own kind. But you and I both know that JJ will never see Yuuri as his husband and the Leroys will never consider Yuuri to be one of their own. We should just call it off-”

“And then what? Wait however long for someone else that will break the curse? Hiroko and Toshiya were worried sick about Yuuri the entire time he was gone. They won’t get any peace until they know their son won’t be ridiculed anymore for being born the way he is, and the only way to ensure that is if Yuuri marries JJ _today_ ,” Minako stresses. Victor turns his eyes back to the open window, noticing that it’s pushed open wider now.

“But what if it doesn’t _work?_ Then _what?_ We’ll be indebted to the Leroys because they’re going to insist they upheld their part of the deal and Yuuri will be stuck with a man that he doesn’t love.”

“They could _learn_ to love each other!”

“That’s very wistful of you, Minako,” Seung-Gil says dryly.

“Oh don’t give me _that_ ,” Minako scathes. “You didn’t have any doubts about this the entire time and you’re _now_ putting your foot down?!”

“I _did_ have reservations about this. I _told_ Yuuri that the Leroys have ulterior motives,” Seung-Gil responds back, just as sharp.

Something falls out of the window. Victor sees that it’s a makeshift rope made out of bedsheets and clothing. Shortly after, he spots Yuuri at the window throwing his leg over the windowsill.

Victor’s eyes flicker back down to Seung-Gil and Minako as they continue to argue, then back up to Yuuri as Yuuri slowly grabs hold of the bedsheets and starts to climb down. The rope is far too short; it doesn’t even reach the ground and doesn’t look like it was well tied either. Yuuri’s hips give a cute little wiggle as he tries to shimmy down the rope, dangling precariously over a bed of roses.

“What are you staring at?” Seung-Gil’s voice snaps Victor back to the two in front of him. He jumps, giving a startled laugh.

“I – I’m just going to – you two should talk so _I’m_ going to. . .leave-” Minako turns to look over her shoulder where Victor was staring, going rigid as she sees Yuuri swaying against the side of the estate.

“Yuuri!” she yells and Yuuri slips. Victor takes off running, pushing past Seung-Gil and Minako as Yuuri scrambles to hold onto the bedsheets and keep himself from falling.

“Yuuri!”

“Victor?! What are – is that you?!” Yuuri shouts. Now that Victor is up close, he sees that Yuuri doesn’t has his glasses on _and_ has his eyes tightly shut. Victor pauses for a moment to feel his heart flutter at how endearingly cute Yuuri looks, before he shakes his head and holds out his arms.

“Yeah! I’m here! I’m right below you!”

“Yuuri!” Minako shouts. “What are you doing?! Seung-Gil, get Nishigori!”

“Minako, no!” Yuuri shouts, then yelps when he suddenly drops. Victor jumps in his skin and tries to follow Yuuri’s movement as he starts to erratically sway from side to side, spotting a knot in the bedsheets slowly becoming undone. Seung-Gil darts inside immediately, throwing open the garden door and pushes past the people that are coming out from hearing the noise.

“Yuuri! Solnyshko, I’m right here! Just let go! I’ll catch you!” Victor says, scurrying back and forth like a crab on the hot sand.

“Why are you here?!” Yuuri shouts instead, clinging tighter to the bedsheets.

“I – I don’t know! I was – I got worried! Do – Do you not _want_ me here?!” Victor yells.

“No!”

“No?!”

“Yes! I don’t know!” Yuuri tucks his head downwards. “I just – I – I forced myself into your life when I should have known my place and I hurt you and you still keep coming back-”

“Cause I’m stupid and I love you!” Victor yells, trying to position himself underneath Yuuri’s swaying figure as much as he can with the rose bushes in the way. “Yuuri, you’re going to-”

“I love you too!” Yuuri screams, face a blotchy pink. The wedding guests start to crowd around Victor, murmuring and gasping as Yuuri struggles to hold on and Victor dances from left to right.

“What’s going on here?!” a panicked woman’s voice cries out as Yuuri’s parents pushing through the crowd. Both rush to Victor’s side, watching in panic as Yuuri dangles and sways from side to side. Above at the window, Seung-Gil and Nishigori appear and grab hold of the sheets. The knot begins to slip and Victor worries his lower lip in between his teeth as Yuuri continues to confess.

“You’ve been nothing but kind to me and you’ve shown me so much and you’ve made me _so happy_ and you accepted me even when I’m cursed with this horrible face-”

“I love your face! I love everything about you! You’re kind and you’re smart and I can’t say enough how lucky I am to have met you and have you in my life – Solnyshko, you’re going to get-”

“Yuuri! You’re going to get hurt!” Yuuri’s mother shouts, hands frantically waving, not sure what to do or what she _can_ do. Victor sees Yuuri’s grip slipping as Nishigori grabs hold of the bedsheets.

“I got him! Hang on, Yuuri!” he yells and tugs just as the knot slips.

Yuuri falls and Victor makes a dive for him, barely getting his arms around Yuuri’s torso before they both fall into the rose bush with a loud _whump!_ and scattered screams all around.

Yuuri is on top, unintentionally pushing Victor deeper into the twigs and thicket of thorns. Victor thinks he’s bleeding, he certainly feels prickles at the back of his neck and his face and hands. But then he sees Yuuri’s face, cheeks flushed pink with exhaustion and eyes wide with that beautiful wonder, and Victor just feels warm all over.

Yuuri scrambles to get off of Victor, helped upwards by his mother who also offers a hand to help Victor out of the tangle of the roses and back onto his feet. His head aches and there’s a soreness in his back and yep, he’s _definitely_ bleeding by the way he feels something trickling down his cheek that he’s positive isn’t sweat.

“ _What_ is going on?” a voice barks, Victor spotting Leroy’s father pushing forward. Behind him, his son awkwardly follows dressed in a sharp black suit with flowers pinned over his heart. Now that Victor notices, Yuuri is wearing an all-white suit with a matching flower pin over his own heart. His hair is a mess and there’s a few cuts on Yuuri’s hands and his face. It doesn’t detract at all from Yuuri’s beauty.

Mr. Leroy points an accusing finger at Victor. “Who is he?” he questions and Minako hurries in front of him, hands outwards as if to try and block Victor and Yuuri.

“Mr. Leroy, I apologize for the ruckus. We just – we need to freshen Yuuri up and then we can continue with the wedding-”

“No,” Yuuri says, and it’s so quiet that Victor barely hears his voice. His shoulders are shaking and his face is getting pink and flustered as he shakes his head from side to side. “No. No, I can’t. I _can’t_.”

Yuuri’s mother approaches, dusting the dirt off Yuuri’s shoulders.

“Yuuri, it’s just nerves-”

“ _No_ , Mother,” Yuuri stresses. He reaches for Victor’s hand and pulls him forward, Victor wincing as a sharp pain aches in his right leg and at the base of his spine. “Where are you parked?” he asks.

“Hold on there, Yuuri. Let’s try to talk this through,” Yuuri’s father tries to interject, stepping in front of Yuuri’s path.

“I don’t _want_ to talk,” Yuuri responds, voice a little shaky but not masking his irritation.

“Wait a second, what about our agreement?” Mr. Leroy says to Minako. The woman looks absolutely run down, pushing the flower bouquet into another woman’s grasp as she gathers up the Katsukis and Victor.

“Just – we’ll be _right_ back everyone! Just –” Minako makes a crazy gesture with her and towards the rows of chairs, “everyone just take their seats and we’ll be _right back!_ ” She grabs hold of Yuuri’s arm and Victor’s, immediately yanking the two of them backwards and towards the door. The guests clear a path for them, watching in confusion as Yuuri struggles against Minako shoving both of them inside. As soon as Yuuri’s parents clear the threshold, Minako closes the door shut and locks it behind her. Someone from the outside tries to jiggle the doorknob to come back in and then bangs their fist on the door, most likely Mr. Leroy.

Yuuri grabs Victor’s hand and yanks him again when Minako’s grip goes slack, Victor nearly tripping over his two feet as Yuuri drags him out of the kitchen and down the hallway. Victor hears Yuuri’s parents scream their son’s name, followed by Minako yelling ‘Nishigori, stop them!’. Victor’s head glances up as they enter the foyer, spotting Nishigori running down the steps with Seung-Gil following after him. Nishigori darts in front of Yuuri and holds his arms out, stopping Yuuri in places.

“Yuuri, what the hell are you doing?” the butler questions. Yuuri’s grip on Victor’s hand tightens, and he instead spins around and begins to pull Victor towards the stairs. Seung-Gil quickly opens his arms out to block Yuuri from proceeding any farther, while another woman Victor assumes is the maid appears at the top of the stairs and looks at everyone with wide, confused eyes.

“What’s going on?” she questions. “What about the wedding?”

“It’s happening, Yuko! We just need to clean Yuuri up!” Minako calls back

“I’m not marrying him!” Yuuri snaps. He turns to try and pull Victor in another direction, and Victor is starting to ache all over from his failed attempt at catching Yuuri. He places a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder, if only to hold him still while he tries to catch his breath.

“Solnyshko, just hold on for a second.”

“Yuuri, you _wanted_ to marry him,” Yuuri’s father points out. Yuuri starts to do a nervous shuffle, like he’s still trying to search for an exit. His grip on Victor’s hand is growing painfully tight, almost as if Yuuri thinks Victor is going to disappear any second. He’s starting to breathe faster, furiously shaking his head ‘no’.

“No, _no_ ,” Yuuri whimpers in between his quickened breaths

“Yuuri, _calm down_ . You’re going to make yourself sick. Let’s just sit down and _talk_ ,” Yuko says worriedly as she moves to stand behind Seung-Gil.

“ _No, no_ ,” Yuuri breathes. He’s breathing too hard. He’s breathing too fast. He’s squeezing Victor’s hand too tight and he’s trembling all over. Yuuri’s mother looks about ready to burst into tears from seeing Yuuri like this, reaching out a hand towards him.

“Yuuri, _please_ . We’re trying to help you. Just. . .just _please_ ,” she begs.

“I’ll get him some water,” Yuuri’s father hurriedly says as Yuuri sinks down to the ground, releasing Victor’s hand to drop his face into his palms and hyperventilate. Victor sinks down to his knees immediately after, reaching out a hand towards Yuuri to caress his cheek.

“Don’t touch him,” Seung-Gil snaps, and Victor’s hand stops midway. He glances over at the lawyer, seeing him approach Yuuri with concern reflecting in his eyes.

“He doesn’t like being touched when he’s like this,” Seung-Gil whispers to Victor as he crouches down beside him. “Just. . .talk to him.” Seung-Gil sounds defeated and regretful. Victor notices that everyone standing around them seems to have a look of heartbreak on their lips and remorse in their eyes as they watch Yuuri trying and failing miserably to calm his breathing.

“Yuuri. . .Solnyshko, I’m right here. I’m right here, okay? I’m not leaving,” Victor reassures.

“I – I’m sorry. I – I’m being s-stupid-” Yuuri wheezes.

“No, you’re not. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay. I’m right here,” Victor repeats. Yuuri manages to hiss out a few breaths between his clenched teeth in response. Yuuri’s father reappears in the foyer with a small glass of water, slowly getting to his knees in front of his son.

“Let’s have a drink,” Yuuri’s father says, mustering up a smile as he offers the glass forward. After a few seconds, Yuuri’s hand inches forward to take it and bring the glass to his lips. He swallows down a messy gulp, bringing the glass down to shudder out another shaky breath, the quaking of his shoulders stuttering to a halt.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri apologizes, voice straining. “I’m sorry for putting everyone through this.”

“It’s okay, Yuuri,” his father whispers. Yuuri hiccups, then reaches a hand out towards Victor, who grasps it tightly.

“I thought that I was doing the right thing,” he says, swallowing hard. “I knew that it hurt, and that I didn’t want to be away from you. I’m used to people being disgusted with me and saying nasty things. . .but then, I thought about people making fun of _you_ . Those people on the Internet saying horrible things about _you_ just because I hung around you.”

“I don’t care what people say about me-”

“I _know_ you don’t. But that won’t stop me from thinking every day that I don’t belong at your side, as a friend _or_ as a lover. I’m already a burden to my family, I can’t think about dragging you down as well,” Yuuri chokes out. Victor brings Yuuri’s hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles.

“And here I thought _I_ was the one that was unworthy because I couldn’t break the curse,” he chuckles against Yuuri’s skin, kissing the tip of Yuuri’s ring finger. “I love you, Yuuri. I’ll love you twice as much until you love yourself and see how beautiful you truly are.”

“I love you too,” Yuuri breathes out, slow and easy. Victor smiles, kissing the inside of Yuuri’s wrist and moving his lips over each bit of exposed skin he can touch. A hand cards through his hair and moves to the back of his head to cradle it, pulls him closer so Yuuri’s forehead lightly presses against his own. He lowers their hands, twining their fingers together as a small smile draws itself over his lips.

And then, there’s a sudden loud bang at the front door.

“Okukawa! Katsuki! Open the door!” Mr. Leroy’s voice yells, making everyone jump. Seung-Gil grabs Yuuri and Victor by their arms, hauling them off the floor and shoving them towards Nishigori.

“Nishigori, drive them to Mr. Nikiforov’s apartment,” Seung-Gil commands. Victor takes Yuuri into his arms against his chest, Yuuri’s arms immediately winding around Victor’s waist.

“But what about the wedding?” Nishigori questions. Minako wrings her hands through her hair as the pounding on the door gets louder and Mr. Leroy continues to yell.

“ _Obviously_ , there’s not going to be a wedding. Oh god, what a headache,” she groans. Yuuri’s eyes immediately go down to the floor, letting out a depressed sigh.

“I’m such an idiot. This is all my fault,” he mutters. Victor squeezes Yuuri against him, kissing the side of Yuuri’s temple.

“Don’t say that when you’re back in my arms,” Victor whispers, “Everything will be alright.”

“We’ll handle this. Just go,” Seung-Gil says. Victor nods his head, feeling Yuuri stiffen when his mother calls out for them to wait. When Victor turns to look, he sees Yuuri’s parents looking at Yuuri in his arms, confliction in their eyes like they don’t understand what is happening or if they should let it continue any longer. Yuuri’s mother looks significantly worse, like she’s about to bring herself to tears. Yuuri’s hand tightens in Victor’s suit, burying his face into Victor’s clavicle and not daring to look.

“Let’s go,” he murmurs. Victor looks down at Yuuri, then at Yuuri’s parents. His eyes move over to Minako who is standing there tapping her foot and thinking of what to say to the Leroys, then to Yuko and Nishigori who are watching Yuuri with mixed expressions of both happiness and worry. Tentatively, Yuuri’s mother steps forward, her hands tightly clasped to her chest.

She cracks a sad smile, gives a breathy laugh and shakes her head. “I. . . I know that this is my fault. The curse runs through my veins. . .I just wanted you safe and happy, Yuuri. I hope you know that we only wanted the best for you.”

Yuuri says nothing in response, just squeezes Victor tighter and hides his face more. His mother’s shoulders fall, disappointed and hurt. She then turns to look at Victor, acceptance sparkling in her eyes. “You have his heart,” she begins, soft and no louder than a whisper, “please take care of it.”

Victor nods his head. “I promise,” he says, and she sighs in relief.

When they depart, Yuuri doesn’t spare his parents another glance. Minako and Seung-Gil pass the two as Victor and Yuuri quickly follow Nishigori to the family garage. Yuuri doesn’t speak at all as they climb into the family’s black Benz and Nishigori starts the engine, discreetly pulling out of the garage and turning onto the dirt path heading towards the main road.

Victor glances at Yuuri out of the corner of his eye; Yuuri folds his hands neatly over his lap and hangs his head.

“We might have to drive for a little while,” Nishigori announces as he passes by the press and paparazzi vehicles. A couple of photographers immediately climb into their cars as they pass by, starting up their ignitions with the intention to follow and see who is leaving the wedding so early.

“That’s fine,” Victor responds, turning to Yuuri. “. . .How about you? Are you okay?”

“. . .I’m just. . .I’m just really confused,” Yuuri admits. “I know that they never meant to hurt me, and I know they want the curse broken as badly as I do but. . .sometimes, I just wish that I didn’t have to go through what I went through my entire life.”

He pulls his lower lip in between his teeth, releasing it to speak again as he slumps into the backseat. “Every time they looked at me with pity, it just made me feel like I wasn’t good enough. I. . .I _hated_ it. I hate having people feel sorry for me, I hate inconveniencing people, and I hated that I always felt like a burden whenever my parents looked at me. Even when I ran away and lived with you, I always felt like I was overstepping my boundaries and being a burden to _you_. Like. . .like I was just waiting for you to tell me you don’t want to deal with me anymore.”

Victor remains quiet as Yuuri rests his head on his shoulder. “I’m such a selfish brat, aren’t I? So many people care about me, and I just push them away because I don’t think I deserve it,” Yuuri admits with a sad smile. “I could have been a better son,” Yuuri murmurs, “I could have done what they said and tried harder, but I didn’t. . .I could have stayed with you and not put you through that heartache and gotten my family into that mess with the Leroys, but I was stupidly insecure.”

Victor rests his cheek atop Yuuri’s head. “We’ll work on it. This isn’t something that can be fixed overnight. In time. . .things will be brighter and better. And I’ll be with you. Me and Makkachin,” Victor says. He gives a little chuckle at the thought of his poodle. “He’s going to be so happy to see you,” he says.

“I’ll be happy to see him. I missed his hugs and kisses,” Yuuri says with a little laugh. Victor’s heart swells at hearing Yuuri laugh, not realizing how much he missed hearing it. He twines their fingers together again, rubbing his thumb over Yuuri’s ring finger in little circles, and enjoying the shared silence and warm touch.

“. . .Victor?” Yuuri says after a beat.

“Hmm?” he hums. Yuuri shifts against him, a hand cupping Victor’s cheek to tilt his head downwards as Yuuri leans in. His lips slot over Victor’s, warm and soft and absolutely _perfect_ . Yuuri kisses him timid and unsure, but full of love. _So much love_ . He holds Victor’s face like he’s a treasure, like he’s still too precious to touch and Yuuri is still unworthy of it. Victor urges Yuuri’s hand to hold him tighter by moving it to thread through his hair, while his other hand pulls Yuuri in by his waist so he can kiss deeper. He’s breathless against Victor’s mouth, warm like sunshine and sweet on his lips. It’s everything Victor thought it would be and yet still _so much more_.

When they pull away, it’s only to breathe, and their lips still brush against each other with their faces impossibly close. Nishigori is trying to give them some privacy, but there’s a little smirk on his lips.

“That was my first kiss, okay?” Yuuri mouths against Victor’s, thumbing along Victor’s jawline. Victor chuckles, kissing the corners of Yuuri’s mouth.

“Whatever you say. . .do you want a second one?” Victor asks.

Yuuri laughs, bright and beautiful and all Victor’s, and leans in to seal the small gap between them.

 

* * *

 

**_RUNAWAY GROOM: AFTERMATH OF KATSUKI/LEROY WEDDING_ **

by Ryan Bennet

It should have been obvious that a bizarre wedding should only have a bizarre conclusion. Yuuri Katsuki, the twenty-four-year-old socialite that captured the eyes of the nation by being born with the nose of a pig, was engaged to be married two weeks ago to Jean-Jacques Leroy. However, the following week, there were no signs of the couple being together and no wedding ring on JJ’s hand in recent photos. When asked about the marriage, Leroy had no comment on the event. To make matters more confusing, there has been no sightings of Katsuki, almost as if the nicknamed ‘pig prince’ has disappeared entirely.

Rumors circulating around the Internet believe that there was a last-minute decision to have the wedding canceled. Some believe it was due to the mysterious man seen with Katsuki at the autumn ball the night prior to the wedding and talks of infidelity. Others believe it was concerns with Leroy’s gambling problems that were brought to light after Leroy was seen being thrown out of a casino.

With all of the fanaticism surrounding Katsuki and his mysterious condition, it almost seems like we are living the fairy tale and witnessed Cinderella disappear at the stroke of midnight. His family has remained just as silent on the matter as the Leroys have. What’s your take on this situation? Leave a comment below and for all current updates on celeb news, follow our Twitter and Snapchat page.

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* * *

 

**okay what do u think happened to him**

**prob got cooked up into my bacon I had for breakfast this morning :P**

**r u ppl still talkin about that pig guy???? Its fcking november**

**> >really its so freaking annoying hearing about him like who gives a fuck**

**> >>I know bruh he was EVERYWHERE. I f hes gone then idc**

**did u see king jj’s new girlfriend??? Total upgrade tbh**

**> >hell yeah shes a model**

**> >shes too skinny at least pig boy had some fat on him**

**> >>gross I bet u fuck real pigs if youd pick THAT over a goddess like Isabella**

**theres more important things to worry about than some freak. knew he was just some fad :/**

**> >important things like that custody battle happening between that model and ballerina!!! I feel so bad for the kid being dragged into this mess T.T**

**> >>u consider THAT important???? god why r people so obsessed with strangers that could give less thn 2 shits about thm**

**> >>>why r u readin bout it thn lololol get off the internet**

**so is anyone going to see that superhero flick coming out this friday?????**

 

* * *

  

“When do you think I can go to school?”

Victor rubs at his eyes. It’s pitch black at dark and Yuuri is in bed with him, laptop open and screen _far too bright_.

“Hmm?” Victor hums, turning to face Yuuri and moving his pillow back so he can get comfortable.

“School. I mean, I was looking at maybe entering during the winter term. But then again, I would like to be free during the spring so we can go traveling. And also, I saw that there’s going to be an ice skating rink that going to open up soon and I’ve _never_ gone ice skating before,” Yuuri rattles off, fingers excitedly tapping away at the keys.

There’s a smile on Victor’s lips, still half-asleep and making small grunts as Yuuri lists all the things that he wants to experience. Makkachin is curled up at the foot of the bed, though when the morning comes he will surely be sandwiched in between them. Yuuri’s face is all aglow, hair messy and glasses resting crooked over the bridge of his nose. His eyes are big and wide now; in a few hours, he’ll be fast asleep and hogging the covers with the intent to sleep until noon.

Maybe they’ll go to the art museum. Maybe the amusement park. People have been noticing Yuuri less and less now, especially with the cold weather making everyone bundle up in scarves and heavy coats so Yuuri easily blends in with the crowd. Victor doesn’t know what the days bring for him, but they’re always filled with Yuuri’s eyes looking at him and his laughter filling his ears and his lungs.

Sometimes he sees Yuuri give him these looks that ask _how did this all happen_ and _is this real?_ There are times that Yuuri walks around the apartment without his scarf, his pink snout flushed from the cold of oncoming winter. But when Yuuri keeps his face hidden, Victor holds him even closer to his chest when they go to bed, so Yuuri can clutch tight to the back of his shirt and breathe easier.

It’s a process they’re both traversing, stumbling along together but still hopelessly in love. Sometimes Victor wonders if he’s making Yuuri the happiest he can be, and those nights he feels useless and unsure are the nights Yuuri holds _him_ tight. It’s always warm in Yuuri’s grasp. It always feels like home.

“Victor?”

“Hmm?”

“You didn't hear me, did you?”

Victor shifts in the bed, wiping some drool from his mouth. “No, no, yeah, I,” he pauses to yawn, “yeah, I was.”

Yuuri closes his laptop and sets it atop the nightstand along with his glasses. He gets comfortable underneath the covers, mindful of Makkachin and blindly reaching for Victor’s hand to grasp.

“My parents,” Yuuri repeats, quiet as his voice already begins to seep into tired murmurs, “they called. Or rather, Seung-Gil called and then put them on the line.”

“Oh?”

“Mmm. I thought he was calling about something with Phichit, but he gave me the slip at the last second.”

Victor smiles. “Looks like Phichit gave him some pointers,” he says with a chuckle that dissolves into a tired yawn. Yuuri hums, one hand going up to play with Victor’s hair.

“I. . .I’m thinking about seeing them. They asked if we could come over on Saturday morning for brunch. . .” Yuuri whispers. He doesn’t sound as conflicted as before when he talked about his parents. It’s kinder now, softer and forgiving. Victor kisses the inside of Yuuri’s wrist as he cards his fingers over Victor’s scalp.

“Guess we can put off cleaning the apartment till next Saturday,” Victor murmurs. Yuuri laughs, continuing to stroke his hand through Victor’s hair. His hand goes down to cup Victor’s cheek, lightly running a thumb over his cheekbone.

“. . .I’m happy,” Yuuri breathes. It’s dark in their bedroom, yet Victor can still see Yuuri’s smile. “I. . .I never thought I would be this happy. Even if I got married to some rich blueblood and made myself into a perfect husband with a perfect face, I don’t think I would be happy like I am with you.” Yuuri’s thumb moves lower, lightly touching at Victor’s lips like he’s marveling at all of Victor’s face beneath his fingertips. “When I’m with you. . .I feel free. When I look at all the places that we’ve yet to go and all the things we’ve yet to do, I feel _excited_. I feel like I have control over my life and I can do what I want with it. I. . .I’m ‘Just Yuuri’.”

“Mmm.” Victor kisses Yuuri’s forehead, dipping his nose into Yuuri’s messy bedhair. “You’re not ‘Just Yuuri’, you’re _my_ Yuuri,” Victor corrects, stupidly lovesick.

“And you’re _my_ Victor,” Yuuri responds, and Victor can’t resist giving a sleepy kiss that half misses Yuuri’s mouth and is more the side of his chin. Yuuri laughs, adjusts Victor’s chin so he can kiss him properly, then kisses Victor’s chin and curls into Victor’s arms. “I wouldn’t want you any other way. . .I wouldn’t want any of this to be any different. . .I know I still think about things people say and. . .and it’s still hard sometimes to feel like I deserve to stand at your side or kiss you. . .but you’re here.”

“And I always will be,” Victor says. Another kiss, this one to Yuuri’s fluttering eyelids. “All I want is for you to be happy.”

“I am. I’m happy with you and even though it’s slowly coming along. . .I like myself just the way that I am.”

Victor smiles. “I like you the way you are too,” he garbles out, but it sounds more like a caveman’s grunt than actual words. Despite that, Yuuri understands and he gives another laugh that has Victor leaving sleepy kisses all over his face. Yuuri whispers against his mouth a sweet goodnight and Victor does the same, cuddling Yuuri against his body.

There’s a light breeze that blows over Victor’s skin and a scent that smells of sunflowers wafting through his nose. But just as quickly as the sensation appears, it disappears without a trace. He feels Yuuri’s hand tenderly clutch at the back of his shirt, his face warm against Victor’s chest, and lets himself drift off to sleep.

When Victor awakes the next morning, Makkachin is flopped over Yuuri’s stomach and Yuuri has all of the bedsheets wrapped around him like a human burrito. Victor squints at the sound of the alarm, shutting it off so Yuuri doesn’t accidentally knock it over in his disoriented sleep, and shuffles out of bed to brush his teeth and shower.

He straightens up in the living room and makes sure that the dishes in the skin get hastily shoved in the washing machine, before he starts on cooking a quick breakfast of toaster waffles and the last remaining strawberries from the carton in the fridge. Victor hums a soft tune under his breath as he stands in front of the toaster in his pajama bottoms, shuffling from left to right as he waits for Yuuri to wake up.

It’s not till around eleven that Makkachin comes padding out of their bedroom, tail wagging as he noses towards the food bowl that’s still empty. He gives a sad little whine, nudging his paw against Victor’s ankle.

“Right right, I’m on it,” he says, bending down to open the cupboard below the sink to pull out the bag of dry dog kibble. As the sound of the dog food bouncing around in the silver bowl fills the kitchen, there’s a light footfall of bare feet approaching Victor.

“Mornin’,” Yuuri slurs, bumping into the counter to wrap sleepy arms around Victor’s back and rest. Victor smiles, placing the dog food down to turn in Yuuri’s grasp.

“Morning, my Yu-” Victor’s words fall flat when his eyes rest on Yuuri’s face and-

He stumbles backwards.

He knocks over Makkachin’s food bowl and the bag of dog food, kibble spilling all over the hardwood floor. Makkachin quickly jumps out of the way as Victor slips and falls flat on his ass, staring up at Yuuri who is now suddenly alert and absolutely confused.

“V-Victor! W-Why did you – are you o-”

“Your face,” Victor stammers. How? How could it be? Yuuri’s eyes flash worry and fear as he brings his hands to cover his nose, but then when his fingers brush against the smooth bridge, his eyes widen.

A human nose.

A sweet button nose that is rosy from the cold temperature of the apartment.

“How?” Victor breathes, when it’s clear that Yuuri doesn’t know the answer. He’s still touching his nose, running his finger down the bridge to the tip. He then opens a cabinet, fingers trembling as he holds a wine glass to peruse his reflection. Victor crawls to all fours and then helps himself up while Makkachin ignores them and salvages his breakfast from the floor.

“. . .How?” Yuuri asks as Victor takes the glass from Yuuri before he can drop it. “We. . .I didn’t. . .when?”

Victor doesn’t answer right away, moving his hands to hold Yuuri’s face. He turns Yuuri’s head towards the window that streams morning rays, fingertips gently running along Yuuri’s jaw. It’s real. It’s really happening. He opens his mouth to try and come up with some explanation, but the only thing Victor can muster up to say is a breathless ‘wow’.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Yuuri says while Victor touches his face and marvels at his skin. His eyes sparkle with confusion, little bits of sleep still at the corners as he huffs and tries to think. “The only way for me to break the curse was for one of my own kind to accept me for who I am. . .you don’t think JJ had a change of heart, do you?”

“With all the tabloids talking about him and that model? I think you’re only but a memory to him, solnyshko,” Victor murmurs. He cradles the back of Yuuri’s head, whispering another ‘wow’ as color fills his face. It’s strange; when Yuuri blushed, his snout would scrunch up as well. Now, there’s no cute little nose scrunch, but the blush that flushes over the bridge is a prettier shade of red. Victor smiles and gives a little laugh. “This is going to take some getting used to,” he says.

Yuuri brings his hands back to his nose, averting his eyes for a second. “. . .Do you like it?” Yuuri asks, voice unreasonably small. Victor moves his hands down so his arms wrap around Yuuri’s waist and hugs him tight against his front.

“I like _you_ ,” Victor clarifies, kissing the center of Yuuri’s forehead. “I _love_ everything about you,” he says as he peppers kisses down the side of Yuuri’s cheek, kissing down the jugular of his throat to his exposed collarbone. “Even if you gained pig hooves in exchange for a normal nose, I’ll still love you nonstop.”

Yuuri gives a breathy chuckle. “Which would be awful because I wouldn’t be able to poke this spot if I had hooves,” he says, and prods at Victor’s hair whorl. For now, Victor ignores the joke at his expense, and continues to kiss at Yuuri’s neck, humming against the soft skin.

“You’re still you,” Victor murmurs. “You’re still _my_ Yuuri.”

Yuuri threads his hands through Victor’s hair. “And you’re still _my_ Victor. I wouldn’t want you any other way,” he says with a lilt in his voice, gently kissing Victor’s hairline.

“. . .’I like myself the way that I am’,” Victor murmurs.

“Hmm?”

Victor straightens up, eyes wide with sudden clarity. “Yuuri, last night. You said you liked yourself just the way that you are even when you had the nose. You _accepted_ yourself. Which means that you, a blueblood, one of your _own kind_ -”

Yuuri’s eyes widen. “W-Wait, no. That’s not-”

“But Phichit and everyone was talking about this sort of thing! That there must be a way to break the curse without you having to marry some asshole! That was it! That was the loophole!” Victor exclaims.

“Curses don’t _have_ loopholes,” Yuuri chides. Victor laughs, hands going back up to hold Yuuri’s face and smush his cheeks.

“Solnyshko, _you_ did it,” he says, kissing Yuuri once, twice, three times on the lips in quick little pecks. Yuuri still looks confused, a little bit overwhelmed too. He’s trembling beneath Victor’s fingertips, trying to process everything and form words to explain how he feels, but nothing comes from his parted lips that Victor kisses the corners of. He brings his hand to his nose again, touching the tip of it like he’s checking if its real.

“. . .It’s really gone,” Yuuri breathes after a beat of silence.

“. . .Do you already miss it?” Victor asks. Yuuri drops his face against Victor’s collarbone, digging his fingers into the cotton of Victor’s shirt.

“It’s too early for this,” he groans.

“It’s almost noon, solnyshko.”

Yuuri groans louder, looking up at Victor through his eyelashes. The waffles spring up and out of the toaster at the same time Yuuri slides his hands to Victor’s waist. Victor wraps his arms around Yuuri’s shoulders and hugs him tight. When he does so, he feels Yuuri choke out a gasp against his skin.

“I broke the curse,” he says, his voice slightly muffled as he shudders out another light gasp. He clutches Victor tighter and mumbles over and over ‘it’s gone’, quiet at first before slowly transitioning into clipped off laughter and teary sniffles. Victor holds him through it, kissing Yuuri’s hair and murmuring that he’s still here and Yuuri is still _his_ Yuuri. When he feels Yuuri’s hand clutch at the back of his shirt in between his shoulder blades, it’s subtle. He knows.

 

* * *

 

“One of your own kind. . .” Yuuri’s mother quietly murmurs at the brunch a few days later, a sad smile on her lips as she looks upon her son across the table. This will be the second time they discussed how the curse was broken, the first being with their group of friends and celebratory beers all around. Yuko and Nishigori are eavesdropping by the kitchen doorway, only disappearing whenever Victor glances in that direction when he feels their eyes on him. Minako and Seung-Gil are also lingering close by, popping into the kitchen every now and then with an excuse to grab a quick glass of water.

Victor’s hand is held tight in Yuuri’s grasp and rests on his lap; Yuuri’s head is tilted downwards and his eyes avert his parent’s soft gazes, like he doesn’t know if he’s quite ready to face what they’ve danced around for so long.

“. . .We just assumed it was-” Yuuri’s father begins, but Yuuri exhales a sigh that cuts him off.

“We all did,” he mutters. He brings his other hand that isn’t holding Victor’s up to poke at his food on his plate, but not eat. The air around the kitchenette table is tense and stiff with the Katsukis trying to find the words to say and Yuuri trying to open himself up to listen. When Victor wonders if he should try to say something to break the ice, comment on the weather or what the family is thinking about doing for Yuuri’s birthday or maybe even ask to excuse himself to give them alone time, Yuuri’s mother brings her hand to her mouth and swallows her sob.

Yuuri looks at her in surprise as she shakes her head from side to side, shoulders quaking. His father is biting his lower lip, eyes shameful and hurt.

“Yuuri,” his mother’s voice quakes out. There’s tears in her eyes and Victor feels Yuuri beginning to tremble. “Yuuri, we’re _so_ sorry.”

“W-Wha – no, Mother we all misunderstood it-”

“No, this. . .this is our fault,” she sniffles. “We treated you so horribly. We let Mari do as she pleased and live her life, but we kept you caged away because we didn’t think you’d be able to handle what the real world is like. We could have broken the curse _years_ ago if we would have just done our job as parents and _loved_ you as our own and-” she drops her face into her hands and tries to calm herself before she continues to speak.

Yuuri releases Victor’s hand and staggers to his feet, wrapping his arms around his mother in a tight hug. His father hugs them both, kissing the top of their heads as Yuuri repeats reassurances over his mother’s crying. Victor swallows hard, politely sitting in his chair and watches Yuuri’s shoulders tremble. He watches Yuuri become vulnerable like a child in a matter of seconds and holds onto his mother tight. She reaches her hands up to hold his face, thumbing gently over his round cheeks.

“You’re a strong young man, Yuuri,” she says in between her hiccups and sad smile. “I – I know I could have been a better mother. I could have listened to you like a mother should. But don’t you ever feel that you’re not loved here. We love you _so much_ , Yuuri. We never wanted to hurt you or make you feel like you were a burden.”

She inhales sharply, Yuuri’s father rubbing at her back in gentle circles. Victor rises to his feet, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“I’ll let you three have some alone time,” Victor excuses, turning on his heel.

“Wait,” Yuuri’s mother calls out, and Victor pauses. She rises to her feet and rounds the table to stand in front of Victor, cheeks blotchy pink from crying. She smiles, and it’s happier this time, reaching down to take Victor’s hands gently into her own. “An apology is due to you as well. We treated you like an outsider that was taking away something precious to all of us, when you were the one that saw how truly precious Yuuri is. For that, I apologize and am so grateful that you came into our son’s life.”

Victor gives an awkward smile. “He came into _my_ life and stole my heart. He’s the real Prince Charming,” he fawns. Yuuri immediately brings his hands to his face to shield himself from his embarrassment, which gets his parents cooing and Victor’s heart swelling even more. Yuuri’s mother laughs and gives Victor’s hands a squeeze.

“Well, we are more than happy to welcome someone as smitten with our son into our family as his fiancé!” Yuuri’s father laughs.

“ _Dad_ ,” Yuuri warns, cheeks tinting hot. Looking at Yuuri’s rosy face, Victor can’t help but _know_ – know that someday, he’s going to marry Yuuri. He knows he’s going to propose to Yuuri when it’s intimate and quiet between them, maybe when the stars are at their brightest and reflect in Yuuri’s eyes like diamonds. He knows that they’ll get married surrounded by friends and family; Yuuri will be beautiful as always and Victor knows he’ll cry when he slips a wedding ring on Yuuri’s finger and they share a kiss as more than friends, more than roommates and even more than boyfriends.

Yuuri’s mother pulls Victor in tight for a warm hug. Shortly after, Yuuri’s father joins in and hugs Victor as well. When they pull away and Victor opens his arms out once more, Yuuri fills in the space and holds him close.

Yuuri is sunshine incarnate, a burning spark of life and love bringing brightness to Victor’s existence. It’s like a fairytale Victor wants to fill with every little detail of their time together, dotted with ‘I love you’s and lingering in shared embraces. It’s still new, freshly budding like a flower in spring, but that makes it all the more exciting to Victor when he thinks about new firsts with Yuuri to share.

Yuuri’s face tilts upwards, and Victor sees himself reflected in Yuuri’s eyes. It’s golden.

It’s his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OTL 
> 
> it is done
> 
> i didn't intend for this to go so long. like, this is only 20k shorter than like your french girls so OTL x2 maybe the next multi-chap i write can go shorter and i don't feel like i dragged/rushed it OTL x3
> 
> thank you to everyone that has read and recc'd and made fan art/fan mixes because that really made me happy. and a special thanks to lilywinterwood for betaing these last two chapters and helping me with dialogue and grammar and basically everything that i suck at. i didn't think this story would pick up such momentum due to it being an AU from an obscure movie that not everyone will know, but it was enjoyable seeing people not familiar with the source material still trying to figure out yuuri and the curse and how it would all end. I'm not sure when i will come out with my next multi-chap but in the meantime i'll just be posting one shots and maybe some previews for what i have i mind on my tumblr.
> 
> until then thank you :)


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